


Snap

by TheAsexualofSpades



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders Are Twins, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Angst, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Needs a Hug, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Past Abuse, Post-Episode: Putting Others First - Selfishness v. Selflessness Redux | Sanders Sides, Protective Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Protective Deceit | Janus Sanders, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Sympathetic Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Sympathetic Deceit | Janus Sanders, everyone is sympathetic because that's how we roll in this house, no really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:01:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26206075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAsexualofSpades/pseuds/TheAsexualofSpades
Summary: Most things in life are flexible to some degree. You can push and pull and bend them in certain ways and, to some extent, they will comply with you. There are some things that you can bend and bend and bend. Creativity is one of these things. Creativity, imagination, dreams...they can be shaped and changed into whatever you want.Bend...and bend...and bend...until they snap.
Relationships: Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Deceit | Janus Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Everyone, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Deceit | Janus Sanders
Comments: 119
Kudos: 528





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hey did you guys know that whenever you try and add a tag that has 'self' anywhere in it
> 
> the entire thing
> 
> all of the suggested tags
> 
> literally all of them
> 
> until you type anything other than just 'self'
> 
> are sanders sides tags
> 
> because they are
> 
> AND NOW WE FINALLY GET TO USE EM 
> 
> Mothers and Fuckers of the Jury, I do present my first time using any of these tags, inspired partly by this lovely post by @random-snippets on tumblr: https://random-snippets.tumblr.com/post/617418207350882304/second-chance

Janus enjoys teasing.

He finds that it often reveals true intentions much better than simply taking someone at their word. Plus, the range of reactions he gets is endlessly amusing.

Patton will stutter and stammer adorably, or he’ll put on his Dad Voice™ and attempt to scold. Logan, depending on what sort of mood he’s in, will sass him back or give him a death glare. Virgil _definitely_ isn’t the type to snipe back, keeping up with Janus blow for blow. Remus is…Remus.

But Roman…Roman is different.

Roman used to be the most fun to tease, puffing himself up in a fit of righteous princely indignation to defend himself, going red in the face only to be set off again moments later. Janus could spend _hours_ just tilting his head this way and that as Roman muttered himself in and out of circles and paradoxes and contradictions. It used to be quite an effective way to shut the prince up, letting him stew in his own thoughts.

It’s still an effective way to silence Roman, but it’s changed.

It started after the wedding.

Roman had shut himself away in his room, much to the chagrin of the others. They expected a temper tantrum, they expected sulking. Logan and Patton were constantly on standby for the minute Thomas would start being affected by it.

They didn’t expect Roman to emerge a few days later and quietly ask to talk to each of them.

He apologized.

A _proper_ apology; for mocking his name, for calling him evil, for dismissing him out of hand. Janus can only guess by the looks of pleasant confusion mirrored on the other Sides’s faces that they received similar apologies.

Janus _hadn’t_ been surprised when Roman extended a nervous offer of having him and Remus come around to their side of the Mindscape more often, saying that they had…valuable insights to offer. He _hadn’t_ been surprised to see Roman extend the olive branch to Remus, only for Remus to promptly snatch it up and hug his brother so tightly Janus winced in sympathy for Roman’s ribs.

Patton, as was to be expected, was overjoyed, throwing his arms around the princely side in what could only be described as euphoria. Logan had been surprised, saying he hadn’t expected Roman’s surprising amount of maturity regarding the issue, including the way Roman had promised to listen to him more often. Virgil had shrugged, saying it was about time Roman started doing that anyway.

He hadn’t thought anything of it, not really. And it had been pleasant, being listened to. Not being treated like a villain.

He should’ve known it wasn’t going to be only a few days for Roman to completely change his black-and-white view of the world.

Roman listened more, that was true, but he didn’t talk as much either. He stood quietly, occasionally asking softly for clarification.

“…L-Logan?”

Logan pauses mid-sentence, glancing over at Roman. Roman sits there, twisting his fingers together.

“Yes?”

“Can you…slow down a little bit?”

Logan blinks. He’d been talking about recent discoveries made in the field of quantum physics, just getting to the part about how SUSY particles could reconcile the different interpretations of the expansions of the universe. Roman had been the only one who volunteered to listen, and he half-expected Roman to dismiss the topic entirely or say he had some important thing to go to. He had not been expecting this.

Roman did not seem to interpret his silence in this way.

  
  
“It’s just,” he stammers frantically, “it’s not that I’m not interested, I _am,_ I can assure you, I’m just…I’m having trouble keeping up with you.”

He balls his hands up tightly in his lap, staring at Logan with a frantic sense of urgency.

“It’s okay if you can’t or you don’t want to, y-you’re not boring me, I promise, and I don’t want you to stop, but can you please try and talk a _little_ slower? I don’t…I don’t want to miss anything,” he trails off.

“It’s…it’s quite alright, Roman,” Logan says carefully, “I’m happy to slow down.”

Roman’s face breaks into a relieved smile. “Okay, thank you, I don’t know what’s going on with me today.” He taps the side of his head with a self-deprecating smile. “Not all here, it seems. Sorry, Specs.”

“You needn’t apologize, you haven’t done anything wrong.” Logan adjusts his glasses. “I would be more than happy to slow down. Are you quite sure I’m not boring you?”

“Absolutely _not._ ”

Logan smiles. “…good.”

“C-can I say what I’ve gotten so far,” Roman asks hesitantly, “and then you can correct me where I’m wrong and then jump back in when we get there?”

“Of course.”

Roman had Remus share almost as many ideas as he did, but he didn’t share his own as much either.

“Roman? Do you have anything to add?”

Roman shakes his head, a small smile on his lips as he watches Remus bounce excitedly on the balls of his feet.

“I believe we have a solid idea,” he says, gently elbowing Remus, “and there is nothing I can do to improve it.”

“You know, Ro-Bro,” Remus says, shoving Roman back, “you’ve gotten _so_ much less boring.”

Roman chuckles lightly, picking himself up off the wall. “I’m glad you’re happy.”

“Oh, I am!” Remus claps his hands. “But are you _sure_ we can’t build in the part about—“

“We are _not_ unearthing a roadkill corpse, Remus.”

Roman didn’t puff up when he was teased anymore, but he didn’t defend himself in any other way as much either.

“Could you _be_ more extra,” Virgil sighs, nudging Roman, “really, Princey?”

Roman pauses, before slowly lowering his hands. “I am, aren’t I?”

Virgil’s eyes widen. “Guys! Guys, I got Roman to admit that he’s extra!”

“You did _what?_ ” Remus vaults over the couch. “You _did it!_ ”

“That is in fact a marvelous breakthrough,” Logan says, drinking his coffee, “especially for Roman.”

“Good to see you’re finally developing _some_ self-awareness, kiddo,” Patton says with a wink, patting Roman on the shoulder.

  
Janus smirks, shifting in his chair. “Yes, because Roman’s observational skills have _always_ been at the forefront.”

“Alright, alright,” Roman says finally, waving his hand, “I’m extra, I get it.”

It took far too long for them to realize that just because Roman’s behavior had changed, it didn’t mean he wasn’t still struggling with the ramifications of it. It took them far too long to realize that Roman still clung to the ideas of heroes and villains, the roles had just shifted. It took them far too long to realize that the ego, still hiding its black and blue skin, was still living in fear, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It took _Janus_ far too long to realize he wasn’t doing his job.

“Oh, come now, I’m only teasing.”

“And that’s supposed to make everything better, is it?”

Janus pauses, the sharpness in Roman’s voice killing the follow-up in his throat. His eyes _don’t_ widen at how Roman looks at him. For the first time in a _long_ time, Roman’s gaze is filled with fire as he stares at Janus. It gives him pause for a moment. Just a moment. Then his smirk is back.

_Good. You were starting to get boring._

“You realize that saying you’re teasing doesn’t make it hurt any less, right?”

“Oh, sweetie, there’s really no need to get so worked up—“

“Don’t pretend that your intention has not been to make me uncomfortable.”

“Then why’re you letting it get to you so?”

“…so if Remus tries to knock me out with his morningstar, I _shouldn’t_ get hurt because it’s his intention to hurt me?”

Janus blinks. This is _absolutely_ the direction he thought Roman was going to go. “That’s not quite the same thing.”

“So I shouldn’t prioritize emotional and mental pain the same way as physical pain?”

“…I didn’t say that—“

“Oh, I’m sorry, is it _frustrating_ to have your words taken out of context and applied in ways you _obviously_ didn’t mean? _Wow,_ I _wonder_ what that feels like.”

Janus’s surprise is hidden quickly as Roman takes a deep breath in. He expects Roman to bite back, to push, to hurl acid-laced insults at him. Given how Roman has been taking most of… _this_ lying down as of late, he expects it, even if he would be a little...disappointed. In some way, he _doesn’t_ deserve it.

That’s _exactly_ what happens.

“…I understand that you care and you help in your own way. And I’m grateful for it, really, I am. You…you make people look at themselves— _really_ look and you make me _think_ and it’s great but it’s _exhausting._ ”

Roman buries his face in his hands, pressing his fingertips hard to his eyes. It _doesn’t_ hurt to see him so…tired.

“I can’t—I can’t do _this_ all the time. I can’t do this _most_ of the time. You know that. As a matter of fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if that were the point.”

“…I do _have_ a point.”

“You _always_ have a point. That’s the problem. You are nothing but points, there’s nothing to you but—“

Roman stops, taking a deep breath and pressing his forehead with a fist.

“No, sorry, that’s…that’s not true. The version of you that you choose to present to me and to the others most of the time is nothing but points. There is no softness. No give. Not an ounce. It’s always a fight. I have to…double and triple check every single thing that comes out of your mouth, and I’m not…I…”

Another deep breath. Something softens.

“I respect you. I admire you. I like you. But I don’t know what you want from me.”

Janus _isn’t_ shocked.

Not just at the fact that Roman is _expressing_ all of this out loud, not just at what Roman is _saying,_ but how the bitter taste slowly filling his mouth isn’t coming from any of it.

Roman isn’t lying. Not about this.

_What happened in those days when you shut yourself away?_

It takes him a moment to realize Roman is waiting for an answer.

“I don’t want you hurt.”

Roman huffs. No malice behind it, just exhaustion. “You enjoy putting me in situations that actively make me uncomfortable and you have enjoyed hurting me in the past. Try again.”

There’s a moment of silence. Then Roman sighs.

“Look, I don’t think I’m in the right space for this conversation and the last thing I want to do is mess this up any more than I already have, can we…can we do this later?”

He nods slowly, even though it takes him back to hear Roman _ask_ for something. It _doesn’t_ sting a little to know he isn’t the one that’s made it easier for him to do so.

“Thank you, I—you...you know I care about you, right?”

Not many things can take him by surprise, not many things can make him _more_ surprised than this conversation already has, but this…this earnest confession, this does. He nods.

“Good.”

They don’t speak for days. They don’t even see each other for days. Then Roman has an episode.

The others are away, helping Thomas. Roman is alone. He rides the attack to its end but he’s still trying to recover. This one was bad. He needs to get up, he needs to eat, he needs to drink, he _needs_ to but he knows if he stresses out too much about this, he’s just going to send himself into another attack. He’s trying to breathe but it’s hard. It’s so hard.

Janus wasn’t even looking for him. And yet there he is, sprawled on the floor, hunched over, hands trembling as he struggles to breathe. For a moment he worries at how much he can _feel_ that Roman’s afraid. Afraid of Janus. Janus…he hasn’t exactly shown him his…full capabilities.

And, in his defense, really, Roman is so clever, so sweet, so _open_ that he can’t help but play with him, test him, poke at his comfort zone just enough to see him squirm. And Roman is _lovely,_ truly, he is. And yes, part of him was thrilled when Roman finally snapped at him, but he’s right. Janus is…he has not been good to him.

Time to change that.

He approaches slowly, crouching, and offering a hand. The suspicious look that he gets _doesn’t_ hurt his chest. He _does_ blame him. But Roman trusts, he trusts too easily sometimes and this wouldn’t be the first time Janus has ever taken advantage of it. He tries to convey that he won’t break it when Roman takes his hand. He tries not to think about how much of this is Roman going along with it if only to prevent himself from being hurt.

He leads Roman to one of the common spaces on the Dark Sides’ hallway. It’s almost never used anymore, not since the barrier between Light and Dark started breaking down. He looks at Roman to see such an unsure expression that he can’t help the soft noise when he guides him to sit on the couch.

Janus keeps Roman in the corner of his vision as he carefully shrugs off his cloak. He considers draping it over Roman’s shoulders but decides that might be a bit too much. Too much for right now, even as his mouth starts to taste bitter.

_What does he want?_ Roman can’t stop thinking it. He’s three seconds away from another attack, what’s happening, what’s going on, _I don’t know what to do—_

A gentle hand cups his chin and he distantly thanks whatever higher power there may be that Janus’s gloves aren’t a bad texture. But then he has to make eye contact and _oh it’s the worst._ He doesn’t know what’s keeping this fragile peace. He knows Janus will see through any mask he tries to put on right now. 

But not wearing a mask…he’s not sure he remembers how to do that.

He tries.

_I’m trying, I’m trying so hard, can’t you see? Can’t you see that if you just tell me, I’ll be good? Whatever you want, I can do it, I promise, I’ll be good, I can be good, but I can’t do it if I don’t know what you want and if you tell me I’ll do it, just tell me what you want me to do, I can’t figure it out, I want to be good, but I don’t—I can’t—what do you_ **_want_ ** _?_

Janus sees. He sees all of it and it _doesn’t_ break his heart.

He lets Roman go, the ache getting worse when he immediately shuts his eyes. He crouches, waiting.

When Roman opens his eyes again, he tries to offer. _What do_ ** _you_** _want? Let me help, if you want?_

Too much, perhaps. So he tries smaller.

Roman’s unsure when he offers his hand again. He…Janus doesn’t like being touched. But would he really be offering if he wasn’t okay with it?

Janus smiles when Roman reaches a trembling hand out. Slowly, carefully, he takes it in two of his, playing with it gently. Running his fingers over the back, tracing the knuckles. Roman’s hand is so much more...worn than the others. There are calluses, scars, so many stories that Janus can’t help exploring, smiling a little when the light touch makes Roman twitch. Even here, Roman’s scared of doing something wrong. His fingers tremble, try and move to match the shapes he makes.

Keeping Roman’s hand in his, Janus stands, tugging in a gentle ask for Roman to come with him. Roman stands up too fast and a second pair of arms shoots out to steady him. He looks so _small…_ smaller still when Janus sits them down on another couch, between his legs.

_Stay with me, Roman._

Playing with his hand again gets his attention, the second pair of arms holding Roman close. He waits. Waits to gently tug that hand a little closer. Roman shuffles. His phone tumbles out of his pocket and Janus catches it with his third pair of arms, setting it carefully on the table.

He lays back, all six arms accounted for. Waits.

_Is something you want?_

Roman looks so apprehensive, reaching out with his other hand. He folds Roman in gently, letting him move at his own pace, easing his weight down on top of Janus like they’re afraid of hurting him. As soon as he’s all the way down, still propping himself up to keep the weight off of Janus, Janus embraces Roman tightly, smiling a little at the way he instantly goes limp, exhaling sharply. Part of him takes a little selfish pleasure at having Roman in his arms; he’s so _warm,_ he’s just the right weight, he fits so perfectly. But he’s still so tense, poor thing…

Just as he did with his hand, he explores gently. He lightly traces up and down Roman’s sides, wiggles his fingers as he runs them along Roman’s spine. Smirks a little when he feels Roman’s muscles tense and shift as he squirms under the gentle attention. _Sweet little thing is ticklish too, hmm?_

Like Roman, he doesn’t want to risk breaking this moment with too much noise, but he has to really fight the urge to coo and fuss when he starts scratching his hands through Roman’s hair. Roman _whines_ for him, completely involuntarily, and it’s so small and tired and hopeful and _adorable_ that he can’t help seeing if he can make him do it again. He can.

They have no idea how long they lie there but an alarm on Roman’s phone breaks the silence. Janus barely glances at the label—‘stop and get back to work’—as he shuts it off. He laments its intrusive presence as Roman startles horribly, scrambling up. And he can’t help himself, he catches him.

Roman should get back. He should do so many things but Janus is being so _kind_ and he’s not too warm and Roman has no idea how he’ll react and what if they never get this chance again and he’s holding him so gently and the way he’s looking at him…

_Is this something you want?_

Janus lets out a soft _oof_ when Roman _throws_ himself at him, wrapping his arms around him so tightly he’s sure it hurts. But it’s the thing he wanted and the thing Roman wants and it’s perfect.

He clings to Roman just as tightly until his own arms ache from it. Still, he holds on, until Roman slumps, burying his warm face into his scales without hesitation. Roman’s breathing stutters, he’s still so _scared..._ so Janus softens, gentles his grip, goes back to the soothing touches from before. Tries to lull Roman back into that half-doze they were in before. It takes a long time, much longer than he’d like. Roman keeps jerking himself awake, his fists clenching and unclenching, unsure where to put his head, where to put his arms.

He breaks finally when his fingers hit a sensitive spot on Roman’s back and Roman gasps, Janus instinctively holding Roman closer and smoothing the hair away from his ear.

“Shh…shh…” One pair of his arms come up to hold Roman’s hands. “Shh… _shh…_ ”

_I want you to calm down, Roman, that’s all I want right now. Shh…_

It takes several minutes of careful shushing to get Roman to relax, several more before his breathing evens out and he dozes, right there in his arms.

They still need to talk. Roman’s carrying so much grief with him that, now that he’s looking, he can see the strain. Roman is so _tired,_ he can _feel_ it. And he _desperately_ wants to know what happened to turn Roman into this frightened creature, constantly bracing for a blow, so _confused_ in the face of any affection. But for now…

He’s self-preservation, protection when protection is needed most. Of course he can be caring.

He leaves Roman in Patton’s care, giving them the space they need to make sure he doesn’t push. Not now, perhaps not ever. He receives a gentle thank-you when they happen to pass in the corridor. And it’s…good. There’s a sweet aftertaste in his mouth when he talks for a few days.

A few days later, his mouth tastes horribly bitter again and he knows it’s time. He appears to see Roman sitting ramrod straight, staring at the wall.

“…well, you certainly look as calm as can be.”

“Oh. Hi, Janus.”

“Hello. What seems to be troubling you?”

“Oh, you don’t need to worry. I’m alright.”

The lie tastes sour. “May I join you?”

Roman nods.

“Thank you.”

“Did you need something?”

“Are you…in a proper enough headspace to have that conversation?”

“…yes. Yeah, I think so.”

He can’t quite taste another lie. This is probably what Virgil means when he says it’s important to trust people about their own boundaries.

“I have a proposition for you. I would like you to hear me out before commenting.”

“Of course.”

“…you lie quite often.” Roman nods. “You are not of the opinion that lying is inherently wrong.”

Roman shakes his head nervously.

“You use lying as a defense mechanism to protect yourself, don’t you?”

A new wave of bitterness.

“…do not be afraid,” he says quietly, “it’s quite common.”

Roman’s brow furrows a little.

“Your first response to any question that causes a heightened emotional response is usually a lie,” he explains, “because your instinct to protect yourself kicks in and forces you to say what you think the asker wants to hear.”

Roman’s mouth tightens.

“It also coincides with the need to make yourself as small as possible. If you…do not require many things, or if you do not actively contribute to things that require any extra effort, odds are you will not be hurt.” Janus tilts his head. “I believe Virgil calls it ‘being low maintenance.’”

Roman huffs a laugh and looks away.

“Does that sound about right?”

“…mhm.”

Janus fiddles with the cuffs of his jacket almost absentmindedly. Roman has developed a…particular style of dishonesty that intrigues him.

Roman is very open about vulnerable topics; speaking freely and without hesitation about how he feels about his looks, his mannerisms, his sexuality, pretty much every aspect of themselves that the Sides can think to ask about. But that’s not the same as actually _being_ vulnerable. It’s hiding behind too much honesty, taking advantage of the fact that others don’t tend to talk about those types of topics in that much detail to let them mistake it for actual vulnerability. But it’s not. It’s just a different type of hiding.

It’s not a lie. Not even a lie of omission. Which means it’s harder for Janus to detect. Even harder for the others. So it’s _easier_ for them to believe Roman is more honest than they are. Which let him get away with lying, let him get away with sacrificing his own needs, let him get away with hurting himself.

The pitch is the _easiest_ part, Janus decides. _Definitely._

“Virgil and I have an arrangement of sorts,” he opens with finally. “Logan helped us figure it out. If…one of us receives an answer they believe is untruthful, a second chance is offered.”

“A…what?”

“If I ask Virgil a question, or if Virgil asks me a question, and we don’t believe the answer we receive to be true, we say: ‘second chance.’ Then we have another chance to answer. There are never any consequences for lying, or choosing to take the second chance.”

“…so…”

“So if I were to ask you what’s troubling you—“

“It’s fine,” Roman says quickly, “really, it is.”

Janus gives him a small, sad smile. No, no it isn’t, but this will serve as a good point.

“Second chance?”

Roman’s mask slips. It’s a good mask. Right up there with Patton, and Logan, if he’s being evaluative. Perhaps even up there with his own. But it’s cracking.

“You know it’s unwise to try and lie to me, dear,” he pushes.

Ah. Too much. Fear swells up behind Roman’s eyes and he stammers.

“…I…”

“If you do not wish to tell me,” he soothes, “I will not force you too.”

“Then I would rather not say,” Roman says carefully, each word laid down for Janus’s inspection.

“And there are no consequences.”

The wave of pure _relief_ that washes over Roman is enough to make Janus smile properly. There’s a horrible moment where he looks like he doesn’t believe it, he’s waiting for the punchline, but then it doesn’t come and Roman just _slumps,_ a massive weight rolling off his shoulders. Janus can’t help but watch the corner of his mouth tick up higher and higher as he realizes _it’s okay._

“Well, judging by that expression,” he says, “this certainly will be _awful_ for you.”

Another thing about Roman is that for some reason, probably tied to his connection to the Imagination, is that he has this…field around him. Janus is sure Logan’s _not_ interested in it at _all_ and they _haven’t_ spend hours upon hours talking about it. But he can feel the wave of _care_ and _love_ and _relief_ that hits him, making his heart ache pleasantly in his chest.

It’s gone far too quickly and Janus _isn’t_ saddened by it, his brow furrowing when Roman fidgets with his hands, obviously trying to work up the nerve to ask something.

“…why…when you said this was common,” he says eventually, “what did you mean?”

Ah. This won’t be difficult at _all._

“The…sophistication of your coping mechanism indicates that it has been developed over a long period of time,” he starts.

“…okay?”

“Not uncommon in victims of abuse.”

“What…what are you talking about,” Roman stammers, obviously trying to laugh it off, “I—I haven’t been abused.”

Oh.

_Oh,_ that’s…oh, Roman…

“We have ridiculed you for expressing vulnerability,” Janus murmurs, “we have ignored you when you express deep feelings. Sometimes, when you attempt to speak about them, we tell you that your feelings are not _worthy_ of your reaction, or we are indifferent.”

Janus shifts, letting his regret bleed into his voice as he continues.

“We have manipulated you to get what _we_ want. We have used shame to make you feel bad.” Janus clenches his fists in his lap. “We have led you to believe things are your fault when they aren’t. We have pushed you to question your _sanity._ ”

There’s an awful silence.

“We’ve been _gaslighting_ you, Roman,” Janus murmurs, “and worse. Tell me, what does that sound like to you?”

Any semblance of relief from earlier vanishes, replaced by denial, worry, panic, and so much anxiety for a moment Janus worries Virgil’s going to be summoned.

Then his mouth fills with an acrid taste, coating his tongue so much it almost chokes him.

“…I’m sure you know that I’m summoned by continuous lying.” _Why I appeared in the first place._

Poor Roman barely hears him enough to nod.

“I know what the lies are when I hear them.”

Another nod.

“Which means,” he murmurs, reaching out and gently touching Roman’s temple with two fingers, “…I can hear these.”

Roman freezes.

“There. That.” Janus’s eyes widen. “Oh, oh no, sweetie, I’m not here to be cruel to you.”

Roman doesn’t hear him.

“ _Breathe,_ honey, come on…in for four, hold for seven, out for eight.”

Roman’s not breathing at all _._ Janus leans forward to try and help when Roman’s mouth opens, his voice sharp and determined.

“When people lie,” he says, “does it hurt you?”

“What?”

“Does it _hurt_ you?”

He knows what Roman’s asking and he _adores_ it, of _course_ he does. He _adores_ that Roman’s so worried about hurting _him,_ not himself, _Janus,_ that he’s willing to punish himself by forcing away a defense mechanism that he’s had for years because it _might_ be hurting Janus. He _loves_ it.

“…no. Not a direct correlation,” he says, “no. More often than not, I can tell or sense what the truth would be and…that is not often pleasant. But no, Roman, you are not physically injuring me when you lie.”

“And what about when you’re telling the truth?”

“…sweetie, _stop._ You’re going to hurt _yourself_ far more that you’re going to hurt me.”

Roman’s face pinches as he looks away, so determined that it looks _completely_ painless. It _doesn’t_ hurt.

“Would you like a hug?”

“N-no, no, I’m fine.” Roman’s hands _don’t_ shake. He _doesn’t_ hunch around himself protectively.

“Second chance?”

“… _please?_ ”

“Come here.”

He’s warm, but not warm enough. His aura is relieved, but not relieved enough. He’s still, but not still enough.

The bitter taste in Janus’ mouth _isn’t_ horrendously painful.

“No, sweetie, you’re not being inconvenient.”

_You have hidden this so well, so well we never realized how much this hurts you._

“I’m not angry with you for trying to protect yourself.”

_I will be the first to admit that I have…not acquitted myself well from the things I have done to you, please let me try now._

“You’re not hurting me.”

_Don’t deny yourself comfort, especially when you need it so badly._

“And _no,_ sweetie, I don’t hate being touched as much you think I do.”Janus _does_ find it easy to cry, he _does_ get overwhelmed easily. And yet the lies he can hear right now threaten to make tears spill over. “…must you be so cruel to yourself?”

“…sorry?”

_Ah, yes, apologies. That’s a conversation for another time._ Janus sighs, running a hand through Roman’s hair. “At any rate, it’s _not_ like you’re nice and warm and _much_ better suited than the others.”

Finally, the bitterness recedes, just a little. Janus swallows, washing away the last vestiges on his tongue, cuddling Roman closer. He looks down, seeing his mouth open and close. Laying a finger gently against his lips, he shushes Roman as he tries to speak.

“Hush, you don’t have to say anything, sweetie. I understand.”

“Okay,” Roman huffs, “I will say the whole…mind-reading thing is not ideal.”

_Fair enough._ “I am only paying attention right now because you seem to be having some difficulty speaking,” he murmurs, chucking him gently under his chin, “I will not be all the time.”

“Okay.”

“Or you could simply…not lie to yourself.”

“Unrealistic.”

It makes him laugh a little. “Something to work on, no?”

Roman nods, gently head-butting Janus’ hand. He smiles, cupping Roman’s chin, idly tapping his fingers. The smile grows when Roman closes his eyes, tipping his head back so Janus can scritch lightly.

“Perhaps it will help you with these,” Janus murmurs, lightly stroking his fingers over the shadowy bruises just below Roman’s collar, “hmm?”

“…Thomas, huh?”

_Janus raises an eyebrow when Thomas summons him. “Well, this is entirely expected.”_

_“I need your help.”_

_“Then this can’t be serious at all.”_

_“It’s about Roman.”_

_Janus pinches off the rest of his sarcasm. “Tell me.”_

_“I, uh, I made a…discovery,” Thomas says, “about…things.”_

_“How remarkably descriptive.”_

_“You know the phrase ‘bruised ego?’”_

_Janus stiffens at Thomas’s words. “…I am familiar.”  
_

_“…turns out it’s a lot more literal than I thought.”_

_Oh._

_Oh, no._

_It’s Janus’s job to protect the ego._

_What…what has he done?_

“He _doesn’t_ care for you at all, sweetie.”

Roman opens his eyes, peering up at him with poorly disguised hope.

“Neither, for that matter,” he continues, running a thumb over Roman’s jaw, “do the others. Virgil, for one, _despises_ you for being able to make him feel so wonderfully safe.

“Patton thinks the absolute _worst_ of you—“ he pats Roman’s cheek— “and the care that you give so freely to others.

“Remus, well, he of course doesn’t value you at _all,”_ he drawls as he tucks a loose piece of hair behind Roman’s ear, “let alone your willingness to touch and interact with him as he’s _so_ used to that.

“And Logan would definitely prefer it if you were to never be so clever and considerate ever again,” he finishes, stroking his thumb across his forehead.

“I don’t think,” Roman murmurs, “that I’ve ever been so glad to be pretty fluent in sarcasm.”

“Yes, your sarcasm is absolutely _awful_. _”_

“Yes, I know, I love you too.”

He expects a familiar bitterness to wash over his tongue. It doesn’t.

Oh.

_Oh._

“You don’t have to say it,” Roman mumbles, almost about to doze off in his arms, “you don’t have to say anything. It’s just…it’s there if you want it.”

“I definitely _won’t_ take it,” he says as he presses their foreheads together, “and you _definitely_ can’t fall asleep right here.”

There needs to be another conversation. He _needs_ to know what happened after the wedding. He needs to know how, or perhaps more accurately, _why_ Roman changed in the span of only a few days. He needs to know how Roman got so good at _pretending._

He tries not to think about how much worse _he’s_ made it.

…he also would like to know exactly what Roman meant when he said he loved him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman, after the wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one got waaayy more angst heavy than I thought but hey

The first day is hard.

The first day isn’t having your entire worldview turned upside down. It’s worse. The first day isn’t being betrayed by the people you value most to the extent that it rips a hole in your sternum so deep it threatens to swallow you whole. It’s worse.

The first day isn’t realizing that the only reason you have your place, that you’re _standing here right now_ is entirely based on _how much you conform._ It’s worse.

It’s knowing all of those things, suspecting them, having them whispered in your ear in the middle of the night, for _years,_ and being proved right all at once.

Roman slumps against the wall, not bothering to fix the way it’s ripping the back of his costume up in shreds. He doesn’t deserve to wear the damn thing anyway. He’s no prince. He’s no knight. He’s not even the _squire._

He’s no hero.

He’s never really been a hero, though, has he?

He throws his head back with a silent scream, his jaw aching from the weight of it, his head thunking against the wall.

_Nothing._ That’s what he’s worth now. _Nothing._

He gave up the callback for _nothing._

He gave up his dreams, Thomas’s dreams, for _nothing._

He stuck his neck out for J—for Deceit for _nothing._

He doesn’t deserve to say or even _think_ his name. Not after what he’s done.

Roman’s lips curl up in a smile; a horrible, bitter thing that stings the corners of his mouth and threatens to burn his cheeks.

What _Roman’s_ done…he’d tried _so hard._

For _them._

_The worst part_ , Roman thinks as he buries his hands in his hair, pulling hard enough to bring tears to his eyes, _is they actually think I believe it._

They think he believes in only black and white. They think he genuinely believes Deceit is evil. They think Roman is _crushed,_ throwing his _temper tantrum,_ because Thomas told him he’s not as important as he thinks he is.

Patton is the heart. Patton is feelings. Patton is Morality.

Thomas likes Patton. Thomas listens to Patton. Thomas will _always_ listen to Patton.

So Roman listened to Patton.

Patton likes— _well,_ Roman sniffs, _after today, who knows—_ black and white thinking. There is a right and there is a wrong. There is a good and there is a bad. There is a hero and there is a villain. So Roman tried his best to be the prince, to be the hero, to be _good_ for Thomas. So Thomas could believe that good dreams can come true.

Logan is the problem solver. Logan is the intelligent one. Logan is Logic.

Thomas likes Logan too. He respects Logan in a way that speaks volumes more than the offhanded compliments he tosses Roman’s way on occasion. Thomas will always, _always_ try and make room for Logan in a conversation, even if it doesn’t always go as planned.

So Roman tried to be better to Logan.

Logan is clever, _beyond_ clever, and respects people that can keep up with him. So Roman keeps up with him, challenging him to get him to _talk,_ to _explain,_ to _teach._ Logan enjoys teaching, enjoys talking. And why shouldn’t he? He’s good at it. So Roman tried to make sure that if nothing else, _he_ was the one that Logan could always teach.

Virgil is the protector. Virgil is the caution. Virgil is Anxiety.

Thomas didn’t always like Virgil. In fact, he told Roman that it was one of his dreams to get rid of Virgil. So Roman tried to do what Thomas wanted, treated Virgil like a villain, because that’s what was asked of him. But then Virgil had ducked out and now…now Roman was supposed to like Virgil. And he was confused because wasn’t this…not supposed to happen? But Thomas wanted Virgil.

So Roman did his best to make up for what he did to Virgil.

Virgil is fight or flight, always on guard, and needs a level of security to feel safe. So Roman tried his best to give that to Virgil, to be consistent, to help protect Thomas, to push for things that would help make Thomas feel safer. And…and if anything, it gave Virgil an answer. When Thomas’s dreams didn’t turn out the way he wanted, or a bump in a relationship made them all feel down, Roman gave Virgil an easy, consistent place to look for blame.

Roman lets out a whimper and presses his fingertips hard to his eyes as his hair falls in his face. He’d tried, he’d tried so hard to make them all happy, to do what needed to be done to make them happy, to _please_ them. He tried so _hard._

Then…then Deceit.

Roman doesn’t know what to _do._

When Virgil first appeared, Roman was told that the Others were villains. So he treated Virgil like a villain.

Then Virgil ducked out and they all realized that wasn’t the case. So Roman didn’t treat Virgil like a villain, because that was unfair.

Then Deceit revealed himself to Thomas and Thomas didn’t like him. So Roman tried to keep him away from Thomas, called the Others the Dark Sides.

Then the news of the callback came and Roman wanted to go, he wanted to go so badly he _ached_ from it, and Deceit wanted to go too. And Roman suggested they hear him out because it wasn’t _fair_ to treat Deceit as automatically bad, because that’s not what they did with Virgil.

Then the other Sides tore him apart, spent the entire courtroom scene lauding about how Deceit was _evil,_ that he wasn’t supposed to _be here._ Deceit dressed him up, not for the first time, stuck him in the judge’s seat with the gavel in his hand, giving _Roman_ the final say. So Roman did what the others wanted and sent Thomas to the wedding.

Then…then Remus.

Roman doesn’t remember much of that day either, to tell the truth.

_Ha._

He remembers rising up into the living room, being extremely confused, and then knocked out twice. First by his brother’s morning star, then by a casual flick of his fingers.

He remembers coming to and having everyone’s reaction be _disgust. Hatred. Fear._

He remembers Thomas being so _relieved_ that it was _him,_ not Remus, and he remembers telling Thomas that Remus was everything he didn’t want to be. Thomas thought that meant vulgar, crass, shameless, twisted. It didn’t, but that’s what Thomas wanted to believe, so…Roman let him.

And now…now the wedding.

Roman whimpers involuntarily, scratching his arms until the fabric groans in protest. He’d messed up again. He’d messed up so many times.

He hadn’t said the right thing when Thomas and Patton had asked him. He hadn’t made the right choice with Logan— _had he ever made the right choice with Logan?—_ and his information. He’d messed up by—by mocking Deceit’s name.

He’d messed up by saying 360 instead of 180.

Roman growls, throwing himself to his feet and pacing wildly, still tearing his costume to shreds as he goes, his hair hanging in front of his eyes, his movements growing more and more frantic.

He _hadn’t_ misspoken. He’d said exactly what he wanted to say.

_He_ wanted to go to the callback. _He_ wanted to talk to Lee and Mary Lee about skipping the wedding. _He_ wanted to listen to Deceit.

A pained howl tears itself from Roman’s throat and he all but collapses onto the floor, sobbing and still tearing _the damned costume away from him._

He’d _wanted,_ so many times, and he’d _tried._

He _wanted_ the romance, it was his _job,_ and he failed, and Thomas is so _unhappy_ that he failed, and Patton was so _hurt_ that he failed, but when he tried to _fix_ it, to get what he _wanted,_ he was wrong. He was bad.

He _wanted_ the callback, and yet one of the biggest reasons almost no one else did was because Thomas winning the callback was so _unlikely._ They thought _Roman_ winning was unlikely.

He _wanted_ his brother. He wanted Remus so badly. He wanted his brother back by his side, so they could work together again, they always worked better together, but Remus was taken away from him, because Remus was Bad and Roman was Good. And the only reason Roman was here is that he was Good.

_Good._

Roman gasps, curled up on the floor of his room, his nails digging into his arms as bruises bloom across his body. He can’t even wince at the pain, can’t do anything other than gasp for breath around his sobs.

What is Roman if he isn’t good? What is Roman if he isn’t the hero?

Well, no.

What is Roman if Thomas doesn’t _think_ he’s a hero?

Roman knows he’s not a hero. Heroes don’t mock people’s names in moments of vulnerability.

Guilt wells up in Roman’s chest, making him gasp. Hot and heavy tears trickle down his face, through his hair, sending him into another pathetic, blubbering stupor. He doesn’t _deserve_ to feel guilty. He’s messed up. He’s been so _cruel._ And what kind of horrible person views being compared to their _brother_ as the worst possible insult?

Although…it never really _was_ about who Remus is, is it? Nor is it what Remus represents, not really.

Roman rolls over, no better than a wounded animal, yowling out for someone to help it, flinching as he lands on a new set of bruises. Being the hero is how he defined himself for _so long…_ and now?

it’s not that he can’t compute non-black-and-white thinking, it’s that no one else cares that this is so important to him. Something that has caused him so much suffering is now being treated as insignificant and fickle by the same people that have enforced it on him for _years._ Because he has Remus around to show him how conditional everyone’s love really is and oh, wait, maybe it isn’t anymore.

Because after all, if he had a mustache…

Roman smiles again and laughs. It starts out low, a snort he tries to cover up. Then it bubbles up, frenzied, hysterical, and utterly humorless.

There really is no good twin, is there?

Remus doesn’t have this _weakness,_ Roman thinks as he pushes himself unsteadily to his feet, his costume hanging from him in tatters. Remus is perfectly confident in who he is. Remus _knows_ who he is. Remus isn’t bound by such weak and fickle labels like ‘good’ or ‘evil.’ Remus just needs to be listened to.

Not like Roman, who needs to be told _every single time_ what to do, and even then he gets it wrong. Who sucks up attention and affection like a parasite, using it to sustain himself.

Because _that’s_ who Roman is. Not the good twin, not the hero. The Ego.

Patton may be the Heart, but it’s Roman that needs love. Greedily forcing it out of every corner he can just to keep himself alive. He wants their love so he does what they want. He wants love so he plays by their rules. He wants love so he tries to be the hero.

Only to realize that, actually, he’s done a much better job of playing the villain.

Roman staggers toward the giant mirror in the corner. He winces when he sees his reflection. He’s _hideous,_ covered in giant bruises and lacerations, panting from the pain and the exertion, hair a crazed mess. His destroyed prince costume hangs in rags, even his logo is mangled horrifically.

He doesn’t want to look like this.

He doesn't want to be the villain.

And yet, as he looks at his reflection, a tiny bitter smile comes to Roman’s face.

“When has it ever mattered,” he whispers to an empty room, “what I wanted?”

The second day is easier.

He actually spent so long in pain, lying on the floor, as his body did its best to beat itself to pieces, that he missed the moment the first day became the second. But the second is easier nonetheless.

He gets into the shower, barely allowing himself a flinch as the water instantly begins to steam. He scrubs his body inch by inch until he hasn’t left a single unmarred spot that isn’t glowing with pain. Then he turns the water cool and lets it wash over him, soothe away the sting, let him return to numbness.

He dresses slowly, putting on an old shirt and sweatpants, and drinks a glass of water. Then he drinks another one.

There is something comforting, Roman decides eventually as he pushes his hair out of his face, about realizing that he’s the villain.

He may not believe whole-heartedly in the pure black-and-white thinking, but he can’t deny it’s been…useful in shaping how he approaches problems. There’s something extremely reassuring about a simple story where good is good and bad is bad. He has endless plans and instructions for how to get the happy ending.

If you give him instructions, he will follow them.

He can’t tell the others this. He knows if he even so much as _mentions_ the fact that he thinks he’s the villain one of two things will happen. Either they’ll coddle him, reassure him that he isn’t a villain, and try to explain to him in that gently frustrated way that there are no good guys or bad guys. Or they’ll see him as whiny and attention-seeking, muttering to themselves that maybe he _is_ the bad guy.

Roman already thinks he is, thank you, no need for you to chime in too.

But he doesn’t need to tell them.

So. He’s the villain. He needs to figure out his redemption arc.

Step One: realize that he’s been wrong.

Been there, done that.

Step Two: apologize.

He’s…he’s done that before, but not the way he needs to. Not the way he knows he needs to now. That part’s going to be hard.

Step Three: show that he’s willing to change.

Of course he’s willing to change. He’s _always_ been willing to change. He just…he just has to figure out what they want from him now.

He knows sort of what they want. He needs to take a step back, that’s for sure. Give Virgil less to stress about, let Remus be listened to, let _Logan_ be listened to, give Patton time to figure things out for himself, take some pressure off Janus. He has to be more considerate, adapt his princely persona to be less…obnoxious. It was convenient before, but now…now the role has lost its appeal. He must craft a new one.

Well, it’s not like Roman’s a stranger to that.

And maybe…maybe this time…maybe he’ll figure out who _Roman_ is.

He spends most of the day rehearsing his apologies. It isn’t hard to find the words; he’s tried to say this to so many of them, so many times. The hard part is knowing how much of himself to put into it. He knows if he just starts crying—which is the only thing he gets for the first…hour or so—it won’t work. So he runs his lines over and over, drills them into his head, then pulls out the Imagination and starts trying it in front of them. He’s set back an hour or so, just with…more crying, but eventually, he gets it to where he can at least make it through the apology and a few rounds of insults before he breaks down into a heap of tears.

He knows he has to be more open with them, that they’ll be suspicious. And they have a right to be. But he also knows that he can’t tell them the whole truth.

They won’t believe that either, or worse, they _will._

So he drills himself on being able to speak about things like they’re in the past. Like he’s reading off a card. Halfway through he actually creates a deck of cards and uses them to help. It makes it so much easier and he makes a note to help Logan with his in future.

The third day wasn’t supposed to happen.

Roman was supposed to be finished by the second day. He was supposed to have all his apologies ready, his new persona, his peace offerings, everything was supposed to be finished. He was supposed to shrug on a new copy of his prince uniform, hiding all the unhealed bruises beneath, and walk out with his head held high— _chin up or the crown slips._

That isn’t what happens.

What happens is he loses track of time in the Imagination.

What happens is a brand new smattering of bruises and scrapes interrupts his medical ritual and he has to start all over again.

What happens is he hadn’t noticed the others trying to get inside and so they go to the one thing he can’t refuse.

What happens is he gets summoned by Thomas and appears in the living room in all his bruised, battered glory.

“Ro—“ Thomas’s voice chokes off into a startled gasp. Roman winces, still holding a bandage to his side. This isn’t how he wanted this to go.

“…hey, Thomas.”

“What _happened,_ ” Thomas says, rushing forward, “did you, like, go on a quest or something?”

“No.” Roman winces when Thomas tries to reach out for him. “Easy.”

“Right, um, can you—“ Thomas glances behind him— “do you wanna sit down?”

“…what did you need?”

Thomas looks back at him. “What?”

Roman gestures to himself. “I was…in the middle of something, not that it particularly matters. I am simply curious as to why you summoned me.”

Thomas stares at him and the pure confusion in his face causes a fresh splattering of wounds across Roman’s back. He grits his teeth and raises his chin, shaking his hair out of his eyes.

“Tell me how I can help you,” he says, “and then I can go.”

Thomas mouths the last words with him, before his jaw sets and he holds his hand out. “Tell me what happened first.”

“Thomas—“

“Please, Roman?”

_As you wish._

Roman sighs, the pressure on his ribs never decreasing as he tries to remember the explanation he’d prepared. “Surely the phrase ‘bruised ego’ is one that you’ve heard before.”

Thomas nods, his eyes still scanning up and down. Roman gestures to himself again.

“There you are, then.”

“W-what? But you—you’re…” Thomas’s eyes widen and Roman can tell the second he realizes what Roman’s trying to say by the way red and purple blooms on his cheek. “…oh _Ro…_ ”

“Please,” Roman coughs as another fist drives into his gut, “try—try not to think about it too much.”

“Is—is that why you look like you’ve—“

“Come out of a fistfight with a meat grinder? Precisely.” Another swipe across his jaw and he winces. “Ow.”

“Am I doing this to you? Am I hurting you…right now?”

“You’re not doing it purposefully,” Roman mutters, suddenly finding it quite difficult to stay standing.

“That’s not a _no._ ”

Roman sighs. “Yes, Thomas, you’re hurting me. No, wait—“ he hisses through his teeth as the ensuing pain in his side threatens to collapse him entirely— “ _shit._ Don’t—don’t beat yourself up over it.”

“No, apparently I’m just going to beat _you_ up instead.”

Despite everything, Roman’s mouth quirks up the smallest bit. Patton would’ve liked that pun.

“The best way to help…not do that,” Roman manages, “is to get off this train of thought. Book another ticket. Leave the engine at the station.”

“Okay,” Thomas says, eyes still wide with concern, “uh, what should I think about instead?”

“Well,” Roman drawls—considering the circumstances, he’s quite impressed by how similar his voice is to his normal princely exterior--propping himself up on his knee, “why did you summon me?”

Thomas scratches the back of his head. “The others were worried. Said you’d shut yourself away, or you—you—“

Roman sighs. “You worried I’d ducked out.”

“…yeah.”

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t considered it. But that would be cowardly.

_Plus, Virgil’s already tried that. You can’t even be creative anymore, can you?_

Thomas’s eyes widen when yet another bruise turns the fingers on Roman’s right hand purple. “Oh no, is it not working? I’m trying, I—“

“No, no.” Roman waves his hand—his _non-injured_ hand. “That one was me.”

A pained noise escapes Thomas. “You can do it to _yourself?_ ”

“That’s _also_ not intentional if you’re worried.”

“If I’m—of course I’m worried, Roman!”

Ah. Stupid, _stupid_ Roman. Thomas still thinks he _needs_ Roman—well, in the sense that he needs Roman as he currently is—so of course he’s going to try and fix things.

“You don’t have to be,” Roman says gently, “it’s not like you can stop any and all criticism from hurting you, or even stop it at all. Just…” He motions to Thomas. “Keep going? You’re doing great.”

“…how…how are _you_ the one comforting me?”

“You’re learning about this for the first time. I’ve got the benefit of years of—“

“It’s been happening for _years?_ ”

The twinge in his ribs is really _not_ appreciating the constant sighing. Roman leans against the wall, trying to find the least painful spot. “Thomas, I’m your ego. It’s been happening since you _had_ an ego.”

Roman realizes his mistake again and shuts his eyes before gritting his teeth.

“You were worried I’d ducked out and that the others couldn’t get into my room,” he says before Thomas can say anything, “so you summoned me to make sure I was still…around, yes?”

Thomas nods dumbly. Roman smiles.

“Well, here I am,” he mumbles, doing a pathetic version of his normal pose, “all in one piece. I have no intentions of going anywhere, I’m not going to duck out. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“I’m…I’m glad.”

Roman nods, his eyelids starting to droop. At this rate, he’s not going to have enough energy to bandage himself up properly before tomorrow. He’s going to have to wear two undershirts, then.

“Did you need anything else?”

“Yeah, actually.”

Clenching his jaw, Roman forces himself upright. “What is it?”

“Can you let me…patch you up?”

Roman blinks. “What?”

Thomas gestures meekly at the couch and Roman follows, easing himself down. Thomas stands by his side, fingers twitching.

“I, uh, I don’t know as much about first-aid as Logan does—well, not…not in the sense that I’ll be able to _access_ it the same way—but…”

Roman watches as Thomas grabs a first aid kit and sits on the coffee table.

“…can I help?”

“You don’t have to—“

“I _want_ to,” Thomas insists, “and it’ll—it’ll help me not make it worse for you.”

_Thomas wants._

“Okay.”

Thomas smiles shakily. “Thank you, Roman. Do, uh, do painkillers work for you guys?”

Roman nods. Thomas passes him two pills. He dry swallows them as Thomas gets out a thing of antiseptic. _Bottle._ Bottle, that’s what it’s called.

“I, uh, I’m gonna clean the ones on your face, do you…what…” Thomas waves to the rest of him. “What else is there?”

“Mostly bruises,” Roman says, his eyelids beginning to droop again, “they’ll fade.”

“I don’t have bruise cream…”

“Don’t worry about it.” Roman lets himself sink into the couch cushions, ignoring the way the fabric rubs against the abrasions on his back in favor of _soft._ “This is…more than enough.”

He hisses slightly when the antiseptic comes into contact with his cheek. Thomas’s movements are steady, if a little hesitant, as they clean him up and push his hair out of the way, and it feels…nice?

“Crap, am I making it worse?” Roman blinks his eyes open at the note of fear in Thomas’s voice to see him pulling away. “You’re—you’re crying, Roman, does it hurt?”

“N-no,” Roman mumbles, “I just…wasn’t expecting it.”

“Okay.” Thomas holds the gauze out. “Can I…keep going?”

“…please.”

The gentle motion and just having Thomas _here_ makes it so much _harder_ to keep his eyes open. Roman…Roman doesn’t have to do it this time.

“Roman?”

He shakes himself awake a little more. “Yeah?”

“Who…who normally does this?”

Roman huffs a laugh, gesturing to himself. “Yours truly.”

“…no one helps you with this?”

“Well, I tend to return from the Imagination at…interesting times,” Roman says as Thomas covers the scratch on his cheek with a Band-Aid, “so I’m typically the only one awake.”

“And what about for…this?”

“…still me.”

“Don’t—don’t the others help you?”

Roman huffs, letting Thomas wrap a bandage around his hand. “Why would they?”

Thomas gapes at him. “…do they not _know?_ ”

Roman shrugs.

“Not even Patton?”

_Patton._ Roman grits his teeth. “Why Patton?”

“P-Patton’s the heart,” Thomas says nervously, obviously picking up on the little bit of resentment that slipped unbidden into Roman’s tone, “isn’t it his job to help?”

“Patton’s job is Morality,” Roman corrects, “and feelings. _Your_ feelings. Not mine.”

“Logan then? He knows the most about first-aid.”

“Logan cares about _solving_ problems, Thomas.” He raises his now bandaged hand. “This isn’t a solvable problem.”

“…Virgil?”

Roman just gives him a look.

“…whose job is it to help you, then?”

“That would be me.” Thomas still looks unsure. “It’s fine, Thomas, really. It…it looks worse than it is.”

Thomas’s eyebrows raise.

“ _Really,_ it is.”

“It’s someone’s job to look after you, Roman,” Thomas says firmly, packing away the first aid kit, “whether you believe it or not.”

Roman doesn’t believe him, not until later.

It had been going well. He managed to heal most of the visible injuries the rest of that night, walking out the next morning to face the others. They…they accepted his apologies. They accepted him back. And they’d been telling him what they wanted and he listened. He’d been doing so good, the others were so happy.

He was still working on the rest of the redemption plan, resolutely striving towards being _better._ The blows still landed, but thankfully they landed out of sight. He was doing so much better at hiding things now, hiding the fact that he was still hurt.

A small part of him wanted an apology too.

But he pushed it aside, knowing he wasn’t going to get the one he wanted.

Then…then Janus had found him that day and—and for the first time in a _long_ time, Roman let himself want. He bathed in Janus’s words, the assurances that the others wanted _him,_ the assertion that someone _cared_ about him.

It felt…good.

But it didn’t come free.

Roman’s in his room, sitting on the edge of his bed, thinking. Then a soft _pop_ and he’s abruptly squished by the sudden appearance of another body.

“Remus!”

“Ro-Bro!” Remus drapes himself over Roman like a feral cat, going limp so Roman has to try and pry his dead weight off of him.

“Get off me!”

“Nope,” Remus says, popping the ‘p’ and snuggling delightedly into Roman’s shoulder, “it’s cat pile time.”

“The phrase is ‘dog pile.’”

“Pshh. Dogs don’t lie around on top of each other like this. Cat pile.”

Roman sighs, only to immediately regret it when it just lets Remus wrap his arms tightly around Roman’s waist and _squeeze._ “Re—mus!”

Remus lets up and Roman gasps, panting as Remus pulls back to look down at him, more serious than Roman’s seen him in a long time.

“Am I hurting you?”

Roman blinks. “What?”

Remus indicates his weight. “Am I hurting you?”

Remus is warm, solid, _firm_ on top of him. And Roman is struck by the feeling that if Remus moves, even for an instant, Roman will fly apart.

“…no.”

“Good.” Remus lies back down, more gently this time, and Roman sighs again at the _solidwarmsafereal_ pressure. Remus turns his head and nuzzles his shoulder. “Felt you were upset. So…cat pile.”

“…cat pile,” Roman agrees, reaching up to hug Remus back.

His brother is right. They used to do this before; lie around on top of each other, brainstorming or arguing or just…existing. The longer Roman holds Remus the more he realizes how much his brother planned this.

Remus isn’t wearing his normal costume, he’s wearing soft things. He smells like he showered. He’s…he’s quiet.

Remus _cares._

“R-Remus?”

Remus shifts a little. “Yeah?”

“I…I’m sorry.”

Roman flinches when Remus pulls back, looking down at him. “For what, Ro?”

  
“Saying you were the evil twin.”

Remus cocks his head. “When’d you say that?”

“…the wedding, I—“

“I thought Janny was the one that said that.”

Roman falters. “…he was, but I…I shouldn’t’ve gotten so insulted by it.”

“Ro, you _already_ apologized for that,” Remus says, leaning down and bonking their foreheads together, blowing Roman’s hair out of his face, “and I wasn’t hurt by it.”

“You weren’t?”

“Heck no, Janny’s always so _resolute_ about his whole ‘everyone is in shades of gray’ act,” Remus huffs, “you have _any_ idea how long I’ve been waiting for him to _stop that shit?_ ”

“So…”

“That,” Remus announces delightedly, “was the best moment of my existence. Plus, with the amount of nuisance that I am, it was _offensive_ that he _wasn’t_ calling me evil.”

Roman can’t help laughing at the maniac glee on Remus’s face. When Remus sees it, his smile softens, leaning back down to cuddle Roman.

“You don’t gotta worry about it, Ro,” he murmurs, “and you don’t have to apologize. Especially not to me.”

“…you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“I just…” Roman swallows. “I feel bad.”

“Gathered,” Remus says, giving him a squeeze ‘round the middle. “Tell me more.”

“I feel bad about it,” Roman mutters, “like…like I’m doing something wrong by not feeling fine. L-like the others have done something wrong and I…I want them to say that they did but they haven’t…not really. And I _apologized,_ didn’t I? I…I shouldn’t be hurt by it anymore, but I…I _am._ ”

Something about Roman’s following silence must make Remus realize what’s running through his head because he sits up again.

“Do you need an apology from _me?_ ”

Remus is, in fact, the only person Roman doesn’t want an apology from. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Damn right I didn’t.” Remus stares at him, brow creasing. “What’s up, Ro? Why’re you apologizing again? Why’re you feeling so bad?”

Roman fidgets under the gaze. “…Janus said something.”

“I’ll kick his ass.”

“No—“ Roman quickly wraps his arms around Remus and tugs him back down— “no, not like that.”

“No one fucks with my bro except _me,_ ” Remus grumbles into his neck, cuddling into him protectively, “so what’d he say?”

Roman swallows. “…Remus?”

“…yeah?”

“Am I…” He swallows again. Why is his throat so dry all of a sudden? “…have I been emotionally abused?”

Remus stills. “Janny say you have?” Roman nods. “…shit, Roman.”

Roman’s chest clenches. “So it’s not true?”

“I didn’t say that.” Remus sits up, pulling Roman with him. “What do you think?”

“I, um…” Roman twists his hands in Remus’s shirt. “It…the things he said…made a lot of sense. But he’s made sense before and he…”

“He’s been lying.” Roman nods miserably. “What did he say specifically?”

“That, um…that they’ve manipulated me into doing what they want. That they’ve shamed me into feeling bad and changing. That they’ve made me f-feel like I can’t feel how I’m feeling and it’s m-my fault when it isn’t.” _Why can’t I speak properly?_ “That they’ve made me question m-my sanity.”

Roman’s eyes widen.

“O-oh,” he manages, “oh my god.”

Remus catches him, holds his face tight despite the tears—when did he start crying?—and gives him a little shake. “ _Roman._ Roman, look at me.”

“Oh my _god._ ”

“You listen to me, Roman, you hear?” Remus looks at him with such an intense expression Roman’s eyes water all over again. “You _absolutely are allowed to feel bad._ You understand?”

“R- _Remus—“_

“Come here, bro.” Remus catches him in a tight hug, tight enough that it _hurts,_ fisting the fabric of their clothes, heads buried in each other’s necks, as close as they can get. And it’s _so much easier_ than trying to patiently navigate how to _say_ this out loud without saying the wrong thing. This. This they both understand.

“…have any of them apologized to you,” Remus asks after a while, when their arms ache, “at all?”

Roman nods.

“ _Properly?_ ”

The pause tells Remus all he needs to know. He curses and takes Roman’s face in his hands again.

“Right. Here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re feeling guilty about the fact that you _want_ those apologies, right?” Roman nods. “You’re trying to forgive them and to some extent you _have,_ but you still want those apologies, right?” Another nod.

Remus leans closer. “ _Good._ ”

“G-good?”

“ _Good._ They don’t get to turn around and decide they didn’t hurt you. _You_ don’t get to turn around and tell _yourself_ that you’re not hurt,” Remus says firmly, “you _want_ an apology from them? You damn well don’t have to forgive them until they _give you one._ ”

“I—I don’t?”

“Forgiveness is earned, Roman,” Remus says softly, wiping away Roman’s tears, “not bestowed.”

“But I…I hurt them.”

“So? You fucked them up, they fucked you up. Everyone fucked up everyone else, everyone _is_ fucked up. Doesn’t make further fucking up okay.” Remus gives him a look. “And _you_ got fucked up _and you still apologized._ You hurt people, be it intentionally or unintentionally, and you _realized it and apologized._ ”

“So I don’t have to forgive them?”

Remus shifts, making them a little more comfortable. “You get to make that choice, Roman. But you don’t have to give them _anything_ until they apologize _properly._ ”

Remus frowns when Roman ducks away, worrying his lip guiltily.

“…I told him I loved him.”

Remus’s shoulders slump. “…oh, _Ro…”_

“I shouldn’t have,” Roman sobs, scrubbing his face with his hands, “I know I shouldn’t have but I was so _tired_ and he was being so _nice_ and it just—it slipped out.”

“Is it true?”

“Y-yes. I know I shouldn’t but—“

“Why shouldn’t you?” Remus carefully lifts Roman’s chin, pushing his hair back. “Why shouldn’t you love him?”

“Because—“

Roman swallows.

“Because he _hurt me._ He used me, he manipulated me, he didn’t _care_ how much he was hurting me,” Roman spits, a wave of anger pushing the words into his mouth, “he—he _lied_ to me, he set me up to fail and he _made me think I was broken._ ”

His breathing is heavy. His chest aches. His heart races. Remus holds him steady.

“And do you still love him?”

“ _…yes._ ”

“And is that enough?”

Roman blinks up at Remus in confusion. “What?”

“Is that enough?” Remus repeats. “Is the fact that you love him enough to make up for all of that? To make up for the fact that he _hurt you,_ so badly, and he hasn’t apologized for it? Is love enough?”

Oh.

_Oh._

“…no,” Roman mumbles, then raises his chin. “No. No, it isn’t.”

“ _Good,_ ” Remus says, “then don’t let it be. You love him. You love _them._ But that’s not enough. Don’t let them try and use it against you.”

“Why,” Roman says weakly, “have I never listened to you before?”

“Because you didn’t want to.” At Roman’s blanching expression, Remus softens, stroking Roman’s cheek. “Because you didn’t think you _could._ ”

“I missed you,” Roman whispers, “I missed you _so much._ ”

“I missed you too,” Remus whispers back, “and we’re not gonna go anywhere, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Roman sniffles and wipes his face. “Yeah.”

“Disney marathon?”

“…cat pile?”

Remus grins, flopping down excitedly as Roman squeaks in surprise. “Cat pile!”

“Move your elbow, it’s digging into my ribs.”

“Move your knee, it’s digging into my bladder.”

“That’s my crotch!”

“Hey! Put that hand somewhere else!”

“…thank you, Re.”

“Of course, Ro. You know I’m always here for you.”

“I know…I love you, Remus.”

“Love you too, bro.”

“…it’s enough.”

“Hmm?”

“With you, it’s…it’s enough.”

Remus stills, then he hugs Roman with a ferocity that takes his breath away. Roman hugs back. He may not have much, but he has his brother.

Remus, meanwhile, is _fucking furious._

Not at Roman, no, never at Roman, but at the others. For doing this to his brother. And not apologizing for it.

He tightens his grip on Roman and makes a silent promise.

When Roman can’t say it himself, Remus will say it for him.

He gets his chance a few days later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feral protective remus is my shit


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to have a talk, isn't it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys have NO idea how cathartic it was to write part of this

They’re in the living room. Everyone is doing…something. Remus isn’t paying a whole lot of attention to anything but rewrapping his grip on his morning star and the gentle press of Roman’s leg against his. Every now and then, Roman will reach over and lay his hand on Remus’s knee. Remus always reaches out to cover it.

“Come on, Princey!”

_That_ gets Remus’s attention. He looks up to see Roman shaking his head, Patton staring at him with pleading eyes.

“Just one?”

“No thank you,” Roman says softly, “I...I’d rather not do it today.”

“What isn’t happening today?” Logan closes his book.

“Princey doesn’t want to do the brainstorm,” Virgil huffs crossing his arms.

Logan frowns. “It has to be done soon,” he insists, “otherwise it will put Thomas behind schedule.”

“We’re in the middle of a pandemic, Logan,” Roman mumbles, “it’s not like this is a normal thing.”

“It is important to look after ourselves first,” Janus agrees with a quick glance at Roman, “especially now more than ever.”

Virgil squints at him. “Why’re you suddenly so on board?”

“It _couldn’t_ be because I’m trying to maintain Thomas’s mental health.”

Patton tilts his head. “I think Virgil’s right...is there another reason you don’t want to do this, Roman?”

Roman glances at Janus and sighs. “Yes. I don’t want to.”

“..is,” Logan says hesitantly, “is that it?”

“Yes.”

“Well, forgive me—“ Remus growls low in his throat— “but that sounds a little...selfish.”

Remus growls again. These _fucking_ idiots.

“Yeah, kiddo,” Patton says, giving Roman a small smile, “it does.”

“Didn’t we _just_ establish that wasn’t inherently bad?” Roman buries his face in his hands and for a moment, Remus readies himself to chase the others out. Then Roman sits up.

“I...I can’t do it. Not yet.”

Virgil frowns. “What do you mean, ‘not yet?’”

Roman gives Remus’s hand a quick squeeze. Then he stands up. “Not yet.”

Remus can’t help the surge of pride that shoots through him as Roman sinks out.

Virgil glances around. “Does anyone have any idea what the _fuck_ just happened?”

“I…” Patton hugs himself. “I don’t know.”

“Perhaps something happened,” Logan says, “and Roman is upset by it.”

“Why the fuck wouldn’t he just _say that,_ then?” Virgil shakes his head. “I shouldn’t be surprised that Princey’s being dramatic, but…”

“He’d been doing so _well,_ ” Patton agrees, “I don’t know what happened.”

Remus glares at Janus, daring him to say something. Janus just shifts in his chair. _Fucking snake._

“Remus?” _What does Logan want with him?_ “Are _you_ prepared to have the brainstorm session?”

_Are you fucking serious?_ “Shouldn’t we wait until Roman’s ready?”

“Who knows how long that’ll be,” Virgil mutters.

“We can at least get started,” Logan reasons, “and it’s not as if we’ve failed to perform with—“

Remus raises an eyebrow when Logan cuts himself off. “No, no, please, finish your sentence.”

“… _one_ Creativity,” Logan mumbles, “my apologies, Remus.”

Remus sits back, forcing himself to put down his morning star. “Why was it so easy for you to apologize to me?”

Logan frowns. “Because I made an offensive comment. That warrants an apology.”

“Mm.”

Logan falters. _God,_ these guys can be so _slow._

“Not yet,” he prompts, “why would Roman say that?”

Remus looks around, sees a load of empty faces. “No? No takers? Come on, let’s give you some _prompting._ ”

It takes barely a flick of his hand to create suspenseful countdown music, gleeful fury rising as the other sides begin to panic, shifting around like they _should_ say something but having absolutely no idea _what._ Remus pouts.

“Aww, you’re outta time!”

“Remus,” Logan huffs, “if you _know,_ why don’t you just _tell_ us?”

“Because _I shouldn’t fucking have to!”_

Remus growls, glaring at one Side after another. “I shouldn’t have to _tell_ you why Roman’s upset. I shouldn’t have to tell you _why he didn’t want to tell you._ I shouldn’t have to because you should’ve _paid attention._ ”

“R-Remus?” Patton twists his hands together. “C-can you tell us anyway?”

Patton shrinks under the glare that Remus gives him, Virgil stepping in front of him. “ _Fine._ Just because nothing will get _better_ unless I do.”

“…thanks.”

“What _is_ Roman,” Remus asks, planting his hands on his hips, “what is he?”

“C-creativity?”

“What else?”

Virgil frowns. “Thomas’s hopes and dreams?”

“What _else?_ ”

“Passion,” Logan tries, “romance?”

Remus huffs, turning to stare at Janus. Janus hasn’t moved, his hands balled up in his lap, his head bowed.

“The ego,” Janus mumbles, “Roman is the ego.”

“Correct!”

“Roman’s _what?_ ” Patton glances between Remus and Janus.

“Makes sense,” Virgil mutters, only for Remus’s head to spin exorcist-style around to glare at him.

“And _why,_ Plain White V,” Remus says sweetly, “would that ‘make sense?’”

Virgil shuffles.

“Could it be because Roman is _dramatic?_ Could it be that you see him as _self-obsessed?_ Or maybe—“ Remus fake-gasps, covering his mouth— “it’s because an _ego_ is a _bad thing?_ ”

“Stop it,” Virgil mutters, “ _stop it,_ Remus.”

“An ego isn’t a bad thing,” Logan says quickly, “it is a sense of self, especially when contrasted to another self or world. In psychology, the ego typically refers to your own image and opinions of yourself as the active mediator of trying to accomplish the wishes of your unconscious mind within the boundaries of the real world.”

Logan freezes. “…oh.”

“Yes,” Remus mutters, “ _oh._ ”

“R-Roman needs a structure,” Logan says weakly, closing his eyes, “a—a _role_ that he can play to do his job. He…he _is_ shaped directly by what others think of him.”

“Now you’re getting it.” Remus claps when Virgil goes even paler behind his foundation.

“Thomas’s sense of self,” he mumbles, “R-Roman’s sense of self…”

Remus stands victoriously in the middle of the room, watching the horror and realization dawn on their faces.

“Roman doesn’t know who he _is_ anymore,” Remus growls, “because everything he’s ever had has been _ripped away from him._ And it’s not like he has the strength to do anything about it.”

“I truly hesitate to ask this,” Logan mumbles, “but…why not?”

Remus looks at Janus and raises an eyebrow.

“The ego is kept healthy by positive affirmations and care,” Janus says, still refusing to make eye contact.

“And _you’ve_ done such a _fantastic_ job of that, haven’t you?” Remus tries not to delight in the way Janus flinches.

“B-but—“ Oh. Patton’s crying. “—we _love_ him.”

Remus laughs. He throws his head back and lets the cackles ring around the room, not caring that they get so loud it doubles back and makes him want to split his own skull open.

“Do you? Do you really?” Remus spreads his arms wide, gesturing at the Roman-less living room. “Do you even know the extent of what you’ve _done_ to him?”

He points an accusing finger at Patton. “You forced him into a role he _never_ asked for, one that he’s long since forgotten how to stop playing. You scold him for _daring_ to express an opinion different to yours and guilt-trip him into compliance.”

He turns to Logan. “ _You_ tear him apart every chance you get. You think it’s hard not being listened to? You think it’s hard being silenced? Then you should know how it feels when someone dismisses you _without hearing you out._ Let alone telling them they don’t _deserve_ to feel that way.”

Virgil cowers when Remus looks at him. “Do you have any idea how many times you’ve insulted Roman? Any idea? At all? No? Here’s a better question. Do you know how many times Roman’s sniped back and _he’s_ the only one who has to apologize? Don’t worry, it’s not like you’re the only one who _doesn’t fucking apologize._ ”

“And _you._ ”

Janus winces.

“ _Look at me._ ”

Aw, that’s cute. Janus is crying too. Too bad.

Remus doesn’t bother to hide his contempt. “What is your job?”

Janus mumbles something.

_“Louder._ ”

“To protect the ego.”

“And what,” Remus asks in a soft, dangerous voice, “have you been doing instead?”

“I apologized,” Janus tries weakly.

“What for?”

“For calling Roman the evil twin. For comparing him to you.”

Remus scoffs. “No _wonder_ he said ‘not yet.’”

The snake flinches.

“You apologized—“ Remus takes a step forward— “for _the last straw._ And you let everything else get swept under the carpet. You set him up to take the fall no matter what happened in that courtroom—don’t pretend you didn’t, you put the gavel in his hand—you spent the whole time buttering him up, _you made fun of his name first,_ and you strung him along like your favorite little puppet.”

Remus bends down, forcing Janus to look right at him.

“You knew exactly what you were doing,” he whispers, “and _you didn’t care._ ”

He turns to look at Patton again. “You love him? Maybe you do, maybe you don’t. Whether or not you do, _you still did this to him.”_

Remus takes a deep breath.

“There is one reason you are all not currently splattered across the walls,” he says in a perfectly calm voice, “and that is because Roman _does not want you hurt._ That is the _only reason_ I am being very calm right now.”

“…what do we do,” Patton whispers, tears still running down his face, “what do we do?”

“Here’s a thought,” Remus growls, “why don’t you think about what you make _Roman_ do?”

“Listen,” Logan says quietly, adjusting his glasses.

Virgil fiddles with the strings of his hoodie. “…apologize.”

Patton shuffles and hugs himself. “Do better.”

They all turn to look at Janus.

Janus clenches his fists in his lap as he looks up, hot guilty tears standing on his cheeks. “ _Care._ ”

“Good.” Remus takes one look at the rest of them. “Mess this up, and I won’t give you another chance.”

He sinks out.

Janus buries his face in his hands. He can hear the others muttering worriedly to each other, can hear Patton sniffling and Virgil zipping and unzipping his hoodie. There’s a horrible black pit in his stomach that won’t go away, the guilt simmering patiently at the back of his throat.

_Pathetic._

_Worthless._

_You’ll never be accepted now, you can’t ever have them, look what you’ve done._

The words pile up, burning his ears, the guilt filling his head so much that it takes a moment for him to realize how bitter his mouth tastes. Then realizes he’s hearing another voice say those words too.

The others startle a little when he stands up, jaw set.

Remus was right. He knew _exactly_ what he was doing because he knows _Roman._ For better or for worse, he _knows_ him. And he’s been abusing that for as long as he can remember.

Time to change that.

* * *

By the time someone knocks on Roman’s door, Roman’s already worked himself in and out of at least three different freak-outs, trying his best to keep them as low as possible so he doesn’t accidentally summon Virgil.

The knock comes.

“Come in,” he says instantly, only to wince a moment later.

“…second chance?”

_Janus._

Roman falters. He doesn’t _really_ want anyone in his room right now, he’s…he’s not ready to do the brainstorm session, but he craves the gentle affection Janus has been showing him recently. Especially after this morning.

“…come in, please.”

His door swings open, revealing Janus, fiddling with something in his hands. Roman stands up, wobbling slightly.

“Don’t get up,” Janus says softly, shutting the door, “I’ll come to you.”

Roman sits, watching Janus walk to stand in front of him, tucking the thing he’d been fiddling with into some mysterious pocket. Then he carefully reaches out, hand hovering in front of his head.

“May I?”

Roman nods only to positively _melt_ the next second when Janus cards his hand through Roman’s hair, fingers scratching across his scalp. Distantly, he hears Janus chuckle, another hand joining the first.

He _must_ be losing it, or at least significantly more off his game than he normally is, because he thinks he hears Janus murmuring to him.

“Aren’t you lovely,” he thinks he hears, “that’s it… _relax,_ sweetie, let me hold your head.”

Well…maybe?

Roman warily lets his head droop, leaning further into the touch, only to have a second pair of hands cup his head. He takes a shuddering breath, letting the warm touches wash over him. It feels so _warm._

“J-Janus?”

“Yes, sweetie?”

“Can you…a l-little to the left?”

“Here?”

“ _Hhhh._ ”

Janus chuckles, focusing on the spot just below the crown of Roman’s head. “Does that feel good, sweetie?”

Roman hums, easily getting lost in the gentle touches, the soft voice.

W-wait.

“…stop.”

The hands freeze. “What?”

_“Stop.”_

The hands are gone. Roman takes a deep breath, trying to fight off the wave of _stopdon’tnocomeback_ that rushes through his chest before looking up at Janus. The worried look on his face is almost enough to get Roman to cave.

Almost.

“What are you doing?”

Janus frowns. “I’m trying to look after you.”

“Why?”

The frown deepens and Janus reaches out for him again, stopping when Roman draws back. “Because I want to.”

“What do you want?”

“To take care of you, Roman, like I just…” Janus’s eyes widen. “…oh, honey, do you think I’m only taking care of you so you’ll do what I want?”

Roman looks away. “You know the answer to that.”

He closes his eyes, expecting Janus to scoff, to turn away, or to just tell him what it is that he _actually_ wants. He hears the soft sounds of rustling fabric, then—

“I’m sorry.”

_What?_

Roman stares, eyes wide. Janus finishes tucking his gloves into his pocket and nervously adjusts his hat. The scales on his hand glimmer in the faint light of Roman’s room.

“… _what?_ ”

“I’m sorry,” Janus repeats, “for _everything._ F-for using you. For manipulating you. For letting you think everything was your fault. And for not doing my job.”

“Y-your _what?_ ”

Janus reaches for him again, pleading, and Roman lets him gently cup his cheek. His scales are smooth, cold, and he shudders.

“My job,” Janus repeats in a hoarse whisper, “is to _protect you._ To take care of _you._ And I have been _failing miserably.”_

Is…is Janus’s hand…trembling?

“I used your insecurities to manipulate you,” comes the whisper, “to…to _isolate_ you and make you easier to control. I let the others constantly undermine you, _convince_ you that you had no idea what was right and what was wrong, made you reliant on them.”

Roman’s heart clenches at how horrified of himself Janus sounds, how the hand on his cheek touches him like he’s something precious, like Janus is afraid he’ll ruin him if he touches him wrong.

“I have hurt you.” Janus’s thumb strokes lightly across his skin. “And I have never, _ever,_ apologized for it. So I’m doing that now.”

Janus presses his hand there for a moment longer, then pulls his hand away. Roman can’t stop the wounded noise that escapes his throat at the loss of contact, nor can Janus help flinching at the noise.

Three long seconds pass, each wanting the other to reach out, do something, _say something._

“I…I am not asking you to forgive me,” Janus manages, “not now. Not right away. N-not _ever,_ if you don’t want.”

_No…no—_

“But I am willing to do what it takes to earn it,” he finishes, clasping his hands in front of him and bowing his head, “both your forgiveness and your trust.”

“…th..that’s what you want?”

Janus peers up at him. “…yes, Roman. That’s all I want.”

“…s-so…”

Janus sighs. “If you wanted to, you could throw me out of your room right now. You could yell at me, scream at me, call me every awful name you can think of. I wouldn’t stop you.”

“…do you want me to?”

“It’s not like I don’t deserve it.”

Roman frowns. “Second chance?”

Janus’s head jerks up, his eyes wide. “W-what?”

“Second chance?”

“I—I…” Janus sighs again. “…I would _prefer_ it if you didn’t. But this isn’t about what I want, Roman.”

Roman swallows, still overwhelmed by Janus’s apology. It’s…it’s so much _more_ than he ever expected to get. And yet…even hearing Janus say all the awful things he’s done, it doesn’t change the fact that _Janus_ is the only one apart from Remus that makes Roman feel like it’s _okay_ to want something.

“I…” Janus looks at him intently. “I want…”

“Say it,” Janus whispers when Roman hesitates, “go on, Roman, _say it._ ”

“…I want you to take care of me,” Roman whispers, shame burning his face, only to be chased away by cool scales against his skin.

“May I—“

“ _Please._ ”

As soon as Roman chokes out the word, the hands are back. Tangling in his hair, stroking his face, holding his head securely. This time, Roman doesn’t fight it, sinking into Janus as much as he can, feeling the hands drift down to rub at his shoulders, drawing little patterns into his back. Janus keeps murmuring to him the whole time.

“It’s okay, Roman,” he says, finding that spot on Roman’s head again, “I’m right here, I’m right here, I’m not going to hurt you…don’t fret _,_ it’s alright, sweetie.”

Roman reaches out and fists Janus’s cloak, tugging the other side closer.

“I’m so proud of you, honey, you made me so proud today…you stood up for yourself and what you wanted, you did _so well,_ you’ve been so strong…”

“J-Janus?”

“Yes, my prince, I’m right here, what can I do?”

“It—it _hurts.”_

“What hurts, honey, where does it hurt?”

“ _Everything,_ ” Roman cries, the dam finally shattering in the face of all of _this,_ “everything _hurts,_ I want—I _want—“_

_“Yes,_ honey, you’re allowed to want, come on now…”

A sob chokes out of his throat and he’s gone.

Janus holds him through it, never shushing him, letting him get every single drop out, murmuring soft encouragement that pulls it out of him like some terrible poison. Roman bawls into his chest, letting the prince, the performer, the actor, the _good twin_ shatter, leaving Roman, just Roman, crying in the arms of someone he loves.

When it’s over, when he can’t move, can hardly breathe from how _much,_ when he sags into Janus’s arms, he feels…lighter.

“You did so well, sweetie,” Janus says softly into his ear, “ _so_ well. That was a lot, wasn’t it?”

Roman nods, his throat exhausted. “…there’s more.”

“You get it all out then. I’m not going anywhere.”

“…I…I…”

“Talk to me,” Janus pleads, “you can talk to me, honey, I won’t tell a soul, let me care for you.”

Roman tucks his head against Janus’s shoulder and _breathes._ Janus is slightly cool to the touch, his cloak is soft. He rubs his cheek against the fabric. His tired brain manages to come up with the word ‘safe.’

“Of course you’re safe,” comes the instant murmur, “I’ll keep you safe.”

Roman _hates_ his traitorous brain for instantly flashing _will you?_

It’s barely noticeable, a hitch that lasts scarcely more than half a second, but Roman, pressed right up against Janus with Janus’s chin on top of his head, notices.

“S-sorry—“

“Don’t,” Janus says immediately, a scaled hand tenderly cupping Roman’s cheek, “you needn’t apologize. I…haven’t exactly given you much reason to trust me.”

Roman gently bonks his head against Janus’s. “This.”

He feels more than sees Janus’s sad smile. “And that’s supposed to make everything better, is it?”

He has a point.

_Doesn’t he always?_

Roman squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep, slow breath. Then another. On the third one, he pulls away. Janus lets him go, lets him sit up, and scrub his hands over his face.

“No,” he says finally, “it doesn’t make everything better.”

Janus sits there quietly.

“I’m angry,” Roman murmurs, “I’m _so_ angry with you. With a-all of you, but _especially_ you.”

No response.

“It’s like…it’s like I’m _constantly_ watching myself in third person. I—I have to make sure I’m _always_ playing the role right, that my voice is right, my words are right, because you don’t _want_ me unless I’m always _right,_ you won’t—“

Roman’s voice chokes off. He swallows the lump in his throat.

“…you won’t _love_ me if I’m not right.”

He bows his head, hair flopping in his face, twisting his hands together.

“And I’m _so_ mad right now because I have so many _reasons_ to be mad at you and I _am_ mad at you and I can’t fucking think of any of them because all I want to do is _beg_ you to take care of me and never let me go.”

He tangles his hands in his hair and _pulls,_ despite Janus’s soft noise of protest.

“I hate you,” Roman mumbles, “I _hate_ you.”

He pulls harder.

“But not as much as I h-hate myself for loving you.”

His eyes slip shut as yet more tears well up behind his lids. He squeezes them tighter, taking shuddering breath after shuddering breath.

“I love you,” he says through the breaths, “I love you so much it _hurts_ and it’s everything I _know_ and I’m so angry that I can’t _stay_ angry and I can’t—I can’t—“

He rakes his nails down his face, leaving angry red lines.

“Why can’t I stop,” he whispers, “why can’t I stop loving you?”

“Hate and love aren’t opposites,” comes the hoarse murmur from beside him, “the opposite of love is indifference.”

“I don’t want to be indifferent toward you.”

He hears Janus shuffle around and keeps his eyes shut. If he looks…if he looks and sees Janus’s face he won’t get to say the things he needs to say.

“Why did you change,” he asks suddenly, “what…what made you change?”

“…you did, Roman.” Roman can’t stop the scoff. “I’m serious. You…that day. When you…snapped, it made me realize something.”

“What?”

“That you were far better at pretending than I thought.”

Janus shifts on the bed.

“…I thought your hurt would be loud. Brash. Uncompromising. I thought you were the type to sing it to the heavens, shout it from the rooftops. But it’s…it’s not. It’s quiet. It’s solemn. It’s…it’s _resigned._ ” He takes a breath. “And you weren’t even that angry that day. You were just…exhausted.”

The bed shifts.

“And you were right.”

Roman shakes his head slowly from side to side, feeling his hair swing back and forth. “I want to trust you. I do. A-and I’m trying to.”

“Let me earn it,” Janus says immediately, “let me—let me show you.”

“I want to,” he says, the vulnerable shake in Janus’s voice tugging on his heartstrings.

“…second chance?”

Roman sighs. “I _do_ want to, Janus, but I…I don’t want to get hurt anymore. I—I don’t want to start trusting you again only to have everyone tell me it’s wrong.”

“If it helps,” Janus says gently, “it’s highly unlikely.”

“Don’t lie to me right now,” Roman says, “please.”

“My gloves are off,” Janus reminds, “I’m not lying. And…I _did_ just come from the others.”

Roman opens his eyes, staring at Janus who smiles gently.

“Remus…helped us understand,” he says, “how much we’ve hurt you.” He tilts his head. “He loves you, Roman.”

“I love him too,” Roman mumbles.

“We—we promised we’d do better,” Janus says, “not just for you, but for…for all of us. And we agreed that starts with making things right with you.”

Roman can’t help the traitorous flutter of hope in his chest. The scar tissue around his heart burns, the hope pressing up against the damaged nerves, threatening to leave him breathless.

“When you’re ready,” Janus continues softly, “the others want to apologize to you too. Logan wants to help you figure out what you want. Virgil wants to learn how to recognize when you need help. And I’m fairly certain Patton wants to cuddle you into next week.”

“N-now?”

“No.” Janus shakes his head. “Not now. Not if you don’t want to.”

“…I don’t want to.”

“Then you won’t.” He hesitates, then slowly reaches for Roman’s hand on the blanket. Roman lets him take it, feeling the subtle shake of Janus’s fingers. “…thank you, Roman.”

Roman blinks. “For what?”

“This,” Janus says, squeezing Roman’s hand lightly, “for trusting me with all of this.”

Roman nods, only for his hair to flop in his face and _completely_ ruin the moment. Janus chuckles as he tries to blow the offending clump away, only for it to resolutely stay exactly where it is. He huffs. _Rude._

“Here,” Janus says before he can reach up to move it away, “let me?”

Roman nods, expecting Janus to reach up and move it himself, and maybe run his hand through his hair a few times, but Janus reaches into his pocket and takes out…a hairclip? Is that what he’d been fiddling with?

Janus holds it up so he can see it and Roman’s breath catches in his throat. It’s…it’s a slender clip, in his signature red, with a tiny golden crown on the end. Janus lets him look, then slowly brushes Roman’s hair back, lifting the clip up and gently clipping Roman’s hair out of the way, brushing any lingering strands to the side.

“There…” He looks back down at Roman’s face. “Now I can see you.”

Oh.

_Oh._

“I know this doesn’t fix everything,” Janus murmurs, cupping Roman’s face in his hands again, “but…I hope it’s a start.”

Roman swallows. “It’s a start.”

Janus smiles. Then it fades as he slowly leans forward, resting his forehead against Roman’s, both of their eyes falling shut.

“We love you,” Janus whispers, “ _I_ love you.”

Roman should want to say it. But the scar tissue around his heart groans in protest. Still, he opens his mouth.

“Don’t,” Janus says softly, resting his finger lightly against Roman’s lips, “not like this. Let me earn it.”

“…I’ve already told you, though.”

“You have,” Janus agrees, even though he doesn’t move his finger, “but let me earn it.”

He presses his mouth to Roman’s forehead.

“Let me earn _you._ ”

The soft brush of lips against his skin and the sincerity in Janus’s voice makes Roman’s head spin. “…earn me?”

“Yes, my prince,” Janus murmurs, “let me show you. Let _us_ show you.”

Roman closes his eyes. He wants that. He wants Janus to show him. He wants Patton to cuddle him. He wants Logan to talk things through with him. He wants Virgil to know when he needs things. He wants.

He _wants._

And for once, for _once,_ when he wants, the voice in his ear doesn’t say he’s an awful person for wanting, that he’s pathetic, that he’s _wrong_ for wanting.

Instead, when Janus pulls away a little bit, and asks Roman if that’s alright, if that’s something he wants, Roman answers.

_Yes._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is all I have planned for our boys right now! If you guys want more and/or have ideas please let me know! Thanks for sticking around this far at any rate ^_^


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It isn't easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to the nonny on tumblr who posted this ask! 
> 
> prompt: The way you write about Janus and his six arms is EVERYTHING. It’s so beautiful. Could I request some sort of hurt/comfort fic with Janus and his wonderful wonderful six arms as the comforter?
> 
> and I realised hey yeah there's some loose threads here to tie up let's uh fix that

It isn’t easy. Of course it isn’t easy.

Janus leaves him after a few hours, closing his door with a gentle _click,_ leaving Roman on his bed, arms curled loosely around a pillow, the red clip and the golden crown still gleaming in his hair. He reaches up to touch it almost absentmindedly, rubbing his fingers over the dull spikes of the crown. For the first time in a _long_ time, he’s tired. _Actually_ tired. Not numb and floating in a grey haze, not slogging through using his body as a tool, just…just tired. There’s a pleasant ache in his arms and a soft mist in his gaze. He’s not really tired, just sleepy. Sleepy is nice. Brain empty. Just sleepy.

He gets out of bed to change into his pajamas, wash his face, grab a drink. The mist doesn’t leave. It hovers, soft and fuzzy at the corners of his eyes. Is this what most people feel like when they’re sleepy?

Roman curls back up in his bed, under the covers, head buried in one of the soft blankets, when he feels something nudge at the corner of his head. That’s right; he hasn’t taken the clip out yet.

He reaches up and carefully unclips it, propping himself up on one elbow. Stretching over, he lays it carefully on the bedside table. The crown glints in the fading light from the window.

And just that, just the subtle reminder that time is passing, is enough to turn the mist to fog.

Roman doesn’t _want_ to move. He doesn’t _want_ to fall asleep. He doesn’t want to leave this place, this softness of being sleepy enough to have his eyes hang and his body sink into the warmth of his bed. He doesn’t want to get out of this headspace, drifting slowly back and forth with his head empty. He wants to stay _here,_ right here, with the covers pressing him gently to the bed, with the others somewhere far away, not rushing him to do anything, with the everlasting sunset shining on the red hair clip with the golden crown.

When he falls asleep this moment will be gone. It will be after Janus stayed with him, after he left, after it was okay to _want_ for the first time and not have it be villainized. It will be before he has to go speak to the others, when what they will do remains in the future. When he can hope and dream that they’ll be _kind,_ they’ll understand, that he’ll be _right._ When he wakes up, he’ll have to go _do_ things. He’ll have to move on.

He doesn’t…he doesn’t _want_ to move on.

He wants to stay here, where it’s safe, where it’s soft, where it’s warm.

It’s okay to want.

Doesn’t mean he’ll _get._

Roman falls asleep.

He wakes with a cool breeze blowing across his nose.

He gets dressed slowly. He makes his bed. His hand hovers over the clip for just a second before he decides against it and slips it into his pocket instead.

He opens his door and starts to make his way downstairs, listening for the sounds of the others. It’s early; not so early that he knows no one will be awake, but early enough that he probably won’t run into _all_ of them at once.

The light _clink clink clink_ of metal against ceramic comes from the kitchen as Roman goes down the stairs. The kitchen lights cast a warm glow over the still-dark living room. He turns the corner.

Patton stands next to the counter, stirring a mug of hot chocolate with a spoon. Roman stops when he looks up. Something flashes across Patton’s face, too fast for him to name, before settling on something that looks…pleading? Apologetic? Soft?

“Good morning, Roman,” Patton says quietly.

“…hi.”

Patton pushes the mug a little ways away from him and reaches up to the cabinet. “Would you, um, do you want something to drink?”

“Uh…sure.”

“Hot chocolate? Tea? Coffee?”

“Tea is fine.” Roman edges into the kitchen as Patton pours from the kettle. This seems…fine, right? Sure, the worry about what’s going to happen is there, but it’s…it’s not overwhelming. Not yet. Patton hasn’t started crying, he hasn’t been telling Roman off, there’s been no weird apologies or scolding. This is fine. It’s fine.

The noise of the kettle being set back down makes him jerk his head around, watching as Patton slides the mug with the teabag in it across the counter.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” There’s a moment of silence as Roman carefully turns the mug until the teabag is resting against the side. “…Roman?”

Something cold settles in Roman’s stomach as he fumbles with the teabag. “Yeah?”

“Can I give you a hug, please?”

Oh. Roman nods, pushing the mug away from himself as Patton reaches out, opening his arms. Roman steps forward and lets Patton wrap his arms around his—oh.

Patton’s arms wrap tightly around his waist and pull him close, his head buried in the crook of Roman’s neck. There’s a quick moment where Patton’s hand flattens to the small of Roman’s back and then _pushes,_ holding Roman close enough that he can feel Patton’s heartbeat through their clothes. Patton’s nose is cold. It lingers in the crook of Roman’s neck and makes him shudder, just a little, winding his own arms around Patton’s shoulders and holding tight.

This doesn’t feel like Patton’s normal hugs. Patton’s hugs are normally sweet, playful, thrown about Roman’s shoulders in some exuberant display of sunny affection as Roman picks him up and swings him around. This feels—this feels—

“I’m so sorry, kiddo,” Patton murmurs into Roman’s ear, “I’m so, _so,_ sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“No,” Patton corrects gently, pulling back just enough to look at Roman, “it’s _not,_ Roman. We hurt you. Really badly.”

“…but you didn’t _know_ that.”

“That doesn’t make it better, though, does it?”

_What are you doing? You want them to apologize, they’re supposed to apologize, why are you making this hard for them? What are you doing, Roman?_

“We don’t have to do this now,” Patton says softly, breaking through Roman’s thoughts, “but I just—thank you for letting me hug you.”

“You don’t have to stop,” Roman mumbles.

Patton grins and pulls him back in.

When the timer beeps for breakfast and Patton lets go, Roman steps back, takes his mug, and moves to the couch. Patton watches him go, turning just a little so he can give Roman a little privacy. Roman sips his tea and waits for everything to be done.

“Roman?”

Roman looks up. Virgil sits down next to him.

“Hey, Princey,” Virgil says quietly, “are you—uh, how are you?”

“I’m okay.”

Virgil opens his mouth to say something—probably to call Roman on his bullshit—but thinks better of it. “Good.”

“Mm.”

He tugs on the strings of his hoodie. “I’m sorry, Ro. I don’t—I didn’t realize how mean I was being to you.”

“It’s okay.”

Virgil snorts. “It’s not okay, Princey, I’ve been an asshole.”

“…yeah, kind of.”

“So I’m sorry.” Virgil knocks their shoulders together. “Can we, uh, can we talk? At some point?”

“Sure.”

Virgil’s shoulders sag. He smiles. “Great. Thanks, Ro. You, uh, you wanna be by yourself for a little longer?” Roman nods. “Okay. I’ll give you a shout when breakfast is ready.”

Roman barely hears Virgil leave.

_What’s wrong with you? They’re apologizing, why are you making it seem like they don’t have to? It’s not okay, you know it’s not okay, so why are you saying it’s okay?_

He can hear Virgil and Patton talking in the kitchen. He focuses on the warmth of the mug between his palms, running his fingers over the smooth embossed ‘R’ in the ceramic. The tea bag sloshes back and forth.

“Where’s Logan?”

“He said he’d be down in a minute.”

“What about the others?”

“I dunno. They may have a thing this morning.”

The stairs creak and Roman looks over just as Logan appears at the top of the steps. He looks back down and takes a sip.

“Good morning.”

“Hey, L.”

“Hi, Logan!”

There’s a momentary falter in Logan’s steps as he moves to the kitchen. A second later Virgil calls out that the food’s all done. Roman takes a deep breath and pushes himself to his feet.

Logan gives him a glance and nods. Roman nods back. Patton pushes a plate towards him and goes back to talking with Virgil. Roman eats in silence. Logan doesn’t say anything. Breakfast has the decency to wait until it’s in his throat to turn to ash.

When they’re finished, Roman expects Logan to offer to help Patton with the dishes, only for Logan to turn to Roman.

“May I speak with you for a moment, please?”

Roman nods. Logan moves them into the living room by the stairs, glancing over his shoulder briefly.

“Is, uh, is something wrong?”

“Hmm?” Logan looks back. “No, everything’s quite alright. I just wanted to make sure we had some modicum of privacy.”

“Oh.”

He adjusts his glasses. “I’m sorry, Roman.”

_Oh._

“It’s okay.”

_What is_ **_wrong_ ** _with you?_

“It isn’t, Roman,” Logan corrects gently, “you don’t have to let us get away with this. You deserve an apology.”

“…yeah.”

Logan nods, even though his brow stays furrowed. “I…I would like to have a longer talk with you, if that’s alright. To figure out what you want.”

Roman swallows. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

Logan smiles. “Alright. Please, let me know when you want to talk. I’ll leave you be now.”

He leaves.

Roman _hates_ this.

He sinks out quickly, not quite making it to his room. Instead, he leans against the wall next to his door and lets his head thud back against the wall.

What the hell is going _on?_ Why is he saying everything is okay? It’s not okay, that’s the whole point! It’s _not_ okay, he wants it to _change,_ they _apologized_ and that’s what he _wants_ but why—why is he still saying it’s _okay?_

Why is it _okay_ for him to not get what he wants?

He doesn’t know what to _do._ He doesn’t want to go back to the way things were. He doesn’t want them to _not_ apologize. But he doesn’t know what to _do_ with the apology.

The cold weight that wrapped around the pit of his stomach when Patton first talked to him this morning isn’t going away. It’s still there. It reaches through him and makes him…’cold’ isn’t the right word. He’s _not_ cold. That’s the problem.

He should be. Normally he can’t walk around without some kind of long sleeve or moving around a _lot,_ but he’s…fine. He sitting almost directly under a vent belting out cool air and he’s fine. He doesn’t even have goosebumps. Absentmindedly, he runs a hand over his arms. His hands don’t feel warm. His arms don’t feel warm. He’s just…kind of _there._

It’s cold. But it’s not cold.

What’s wrong with him?

He floats for the next few days. He tries to go back to his normal routine but he’s starting to realize how much he’s been _doing._

How much time he’s been spending making sure he’s not going to make one of them angry, that he’s not taking up too much space, that he’s not being inconvenient. How much time he’s been spending making sure he’s helping everybody else, doing his job, staying out of the way.

How much time he _hasn’t_ spent figuring out what _he_ wants.

And now everyone just wants to talk about _that._

Roman doesn’t want to talk about that. He doesn’t have anything. He hasn’t had time to figure that out and everyone is asking for that every day and he doesn’t _know._

The urge to put his head down and just _work_ takes the cold weight and pushes it away. But that only makes the cold weight come back stronger. Because now they’re asking different questions. Is this what _he_ wants? Is _he_ happy with his work? What kind of feedback does _he_ want from them?

He doesn’t know what answers they want. He’s not sure he ever _had_ answers to these questions.

The others are being _kind,_ he decides eventually. When he can’t come up with answers to their questions they just smile and tell him he did a good job, just let them know, okay? When he stumbles and fumbles his way through words or answers to what he _thinks_ they want to hear they say that it’s alright, he can come and talk to them later. They’re being kind because they’re not yelling at him. They’re not scolding him. They’re not—they’re not—

It isn’t easy.

It’s fine.

It’s okay.

This is better…right?

Roman floats.

The cold weight hasn’t gone away. It’s better when it’s here. It doesn’t hurt. There’s no stabbing pains or flashes of hot anger or anything. He’s not being told he’s wrong.

But he still doesn’t know what’s _right._

He does manage to get himself to stop spending hours and hours worrying about how to perform, how to be what they want him to be. Instead, he sits. He just sits. Not in his room, never in his room, where it would be too easy to dive into his work and never emerge again. In the hallway. In the bathroom. Sometimes in the living room but there are people there. He sits and he floats.

He wonders if he’ll ever stop.

* * *

Janus is on his way to the living room when he hears it.

_Wrong wrong wrong you’re still wrong you won’t let them apologize because you know you’re still wrong. Why won’t you let them apologize, it’s what you want, were you wrong about what you want? You still don’t know what’s right because they haven’t told you. You still don’t know what’s right so you’re wrong. You’re still wrong and you will always be wrong._

Janus snarls as the bitterness washes over his tongue. He stops dead in his tracks and snaps his head around, looking for where it’s coming from. Spinning on his heel, he starts walking back toward his room. He can figure it out better from there.

He rounds the corner and stops.

Roman is sitting in the hallway.

Janus glances around, looking for the others. No one is within earshot. He looks back. Roman hasn’t moved. He hasn’t even registered that Janus is here. He shuffles a little, letting his cloak fastenings clink together. Roman still doesn’t move.

He looks around one more time, frowning as he realizes that _no one_ else is here. Should he…should he _get_ someone?

Another wave of bitterness washes over his tongue and he bites back a curse.

He takes a slow step forward, moving slow enough so that if Roman _does_ realize he’s here, it won’t necessarily be when he’s right in front of him. Still nothing. He takes another. Nothing. He moves _all the way up to Roman_ and Roman. Does. Not. Move.

_Oh, no._

“Roman,” Janus calls softly, “Roman?”

Nothing. 

“Roman, can you look at me?”

Roman doesn’t even twitch.

As Janus edges closer, Roman blinks. Long and slow and sluggish. The first irrational thought to jump into Janus’s head is that Roman’s been drugged. He dismisses it quickly enough. Roman does it again, his chest barely rising and falling through slow, shallow breaths. Quickly, Janus tunes back into the lies that had coated his mouth in the acrid taste and yes, they _are_ coming from Roman. Roman is conscious. Roman is _here._

Roman is hurting.

Janus summons his staff and carefully, oh, so carefully tucks the curved end of it under Roman’s chin. Roman doesn’t move at the touch. His head isn’t heavy. Janus meets no resistance as he tips Roman’s head back. Roman’s eyes are glazed over and he blinks. Slow.

He moves the staff away and Roman’s head doesn’t move. Dismissing the staff, Janus sits, waiting to see if there’s _any_ sort of recognition from Roman. Nothing. _Shit._

He’s having an episode.

Janus doesn’t know where these come from. All he knows is that sometimes, not often—or at least, he doesn’t _think_ they’re very often—Roman will go through phases where he can’t move. He doesn’t pass out—clearly, Janus can still hear the lies running through his head—but there is some sort of disconnect between his mind and his body.

The last time he had one of these was…well.

Right before _everything_ changed.

Janus will be _damned_ if he messes this up.

“Roman,” he says gently, “sweetie, can you hear me?”

Slowly, so slowly, Roman’s eyes lose some of their glaze, and Roman blinks.

“Good,” Janus murmurs, “good. Can I touch you, sweetie?”

Roman doesn’t move, but as Janus starts to reach for him, his eyes don’t lose any of their focus, nor does he tense.

“Easy,” Janus murmurs when he finally cups Roman’s face and Roman’s eyes flutter shut, his next exhale coming out a little sharper, “easy…there.”

Roman is _cold._

Janus shifts. He keeps one hand on Roman’s cheek steadying him as his other carefully runs down Roman’s arm. Roman is freezing but he has no goosebumps. Roman is freezing but he’s not shivering. The light press of Janus’s fingers against his arm leaves faint white imprints before the blood rushes back.

“You’re okay,” he says instead, rubbing his thumb along the crook of Roman’s arm, “you’re okay, sweetie, this isn’t forever.”

_It won’t go away it won’t go away it won’t go away why don’t I feel cold he said I feel cold but I don’t what’s wrong with me?_

“Oh, Roman…sweetie, you’re okay. You’re _safe,_ sweetie, I’ve got you. I’m right here.”

Roman blinks again. His eyes lose their glaze entirely and the sudden panic behind them slams into Janus like a sledgehammer. A soft noise escapes unbidden as Roman’s breathing picks up.

“Shh, _shh,_ easy, easy,” he coaxes, cupping Roman’s head a little more firmly, “you’re okay, you’re safe, sweetie, it’ll be okay.”

_What’s wrong with me?_

“Nothing, honey, nothing’s wrong with you. It’s gonna be okay, you just breathe for me, okay?”

_Am I cold? I don’t feel cold, am I cold?_

“A little, sweetie, you feel a little cold, can you feel this?” Janus presses his hands gently against Roman’s skin. “Is that warm?”

Roman’s eyes flutter and he shivers, leaning into Janus. Janus rubs at his arms encouragingly.

“There you go, sweetie, that’s it, come on now, it’s almost over, you can do it…”

A harsh gasp tears itself out of Roman’s throat and he sags against the wall, panting. Janus surges forward, holding him up as his head lolls back. The sound of his pants rings in the hallway. Roman shudders, his hands coming up to clutch at Janus’s sleeves.

“There you go, good, _good,_ sweetie, I’ve got you, it’s over now, shh, shh, shh, I’ve got you, you did so well.”

“I’m sorry,” Roman manages amidst the pants, “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry, sweetie, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“This is so _stupid.”_

“Shh, shh, shh, you’ll work yourself up again…just focus on breathing, okay?”

Roman breathes. He won’t meet Janus’s gaze, even when Janus reaches up to gently cup Roman’s face. When he stops panting so heavily, Janus carefully broaches the question of what happened.

“I don’t know,” Roman mumbles, leaning into Janus’s touch as much as he can, “I just…I sat down and then I couldn’t get back up.”

“Is this the same type of thing that’s happened before?”

Roman nods. “I think it happens when I…um…”

“Take your time, sweetie, I’m not going anywhere.”

“…I don’t know what to _do,_ ” Roman says finally, his voice cracking, “I—it used to be _better.”_

Janus’s heart _breaks._

“I—I didn’t always know what was right and what was wrong but I—you—they would at least _tell me_ when I was wrong.” Roman shakes his head furiously. “And now everyone’s walking on glass around me and I don’t—I can’t—I don’t _know_ the answers to any of these questions anymore.”

Oh.

_Oh._

“Of course,” Janus murmurs, mostly to himself, “of _course…_ oh, Roman, I’m so sorry.”

A pained cry worsens the ache in his chest.

“What is it, what can I do?”

“Everyone keeps _apologizing_ and I can’t—I don’t—I don’t know what to _do!_ ”

“Isn’t that a good thing? That they’re apologizing?”

“It’s supposed to be,” Roman manages, “but it—I don’t—I just want to say it’s _okay_ and have them not worry about m-me but it’s _not_ okay and I know it’s not okay but I just want to—I want—“

Roman buries his head in his hands with a groan. “I don’t _know_ what I want anymore.”

Of course he doesn’t, he’s never been given that chance.

Roman is the ego. Roman is shaped constantly by the wants and needs of Thomas. Roman is, through no fault of his own, very sensitive to any sort of comments or influence from the others. His very nature is shaped by what they think of him, or what they _want_ from him. And when he doesn’t have that…well, he can’t really _be_ much of anything, now can he?

Because Roman needs the others to be happy with him to _survive._

Janus starts talking, low in his throat, explaining what may have been happening. Why suddenly Roman can’t move, gets stuck, why everything _hurts._ As he does, Roman’s brow furrows and he lets out a long, _tired_ sigh.

“Sweetie?”

“Nothing.”

Janus frowns. “Second chance?”

“…I really am a nuisance, aren’t I?”

“No,” Janus says firmly, “you’re not.”

“This is so _stupid._ ”

“No, sweetie, it’s not your fault. Do you fault Virgil for needing reassurance?”

“…no.”

“Do you fault Logan for needing to be taken seriously?”

“No.”

“Do you fault Remus for needing to be listened to?”

“No.”

“What about Patton, who needs a family around him?”

Roman shakes his head.

“Then you don’t need to fault yourself for this, Roman. “ Janus strokes his cheeks with his thumb. “You _don’t._ ”

“How long have you known?”

Janus blinks. “Hmm?”

“How long have you known,” Roman repeats, “that I’m…like this? That I’m sensitive to what people say to me? Or say about me? That it’s the reason I’m…”

“That this happens?” Roman nods. “I only figured it out just now.”

“And what about the other part?”

“…about…”

“About how I’m susceptible to flattery and stuff, yeah,” Roman says, his gaze fixed firmly upon Janus’s, “how long?”

Janus takes a deep breath. “…for as long as we have existed.”

The flash of betrayal in Roman’s eyes makes him want to flinch away but he forces himself to stay.

“Is that why you manipulated me? Flirted with me? Because you knew it would be easy?”

“…yes.”

Roman curses. “Did you ever care? That you were hurting me?”

His silence is enough of an answer.

“…it hasn’t _stopped_ hurting, Janus,” Roman says lowly as he buries his head in his hands, shaking Janus loose, “you know it hasn’t.”

“I know.”

“You know what the _worst_ part is, though?” Roman laughs miserably. “You’re the one that scares me the _least.”_

He looks up at Janus with the most heartbroken smile Janus has ever seen.

“Guess you must be good at your job.”

“I haven’t been,” Janus murmurs, “and you know I haven’t. But I’m trying now. I told you, you don’t have to forgive me for what I’ve done to you.”

“But I don’t _want_ to be mad at you.” Roman’s hand clenches and unclenches. “Do you have any idea how much _energy_ that takes?”

“A lot?”

“A lot.” Roman’s head lolls back against the wall. “I _want_ to trust you. But it’s…it’s hard.”

A clock ticks down the hallway. Janus turns his head for a moment, remembering the lies running through Roman’s head.

“I didn’t just do it because it was easy,” he says finally, looking back at Roman. Roman’s head rolls around to look at him. “I did it because I wanted you to be happy.”

“W-what?”

“You’re the ego,” Janus murmurs, “you represent Thomas’s wants and desires. You make him happy.”

“Patton—“

“Patton _feels_ happy, but he can’t make Thomas happy all by himself.” A small smile appears on Janus’s face. “ _You_ make him happy.”

“…oh.”

“I never—it was never my _goal_ to hurt you, Roman,” Janus murmurs, “I just—I was too focused on making _Thomas_ safe that I didn’t realize that meant I had to protect _you._ ”

Roman looks down, his hand toying with the spare fabric on his pants. Then he looks back up, the corner of his mouth tugged up in a smile.

“Well, I can’t fault you for trying to keep Thomas safe.”

The warmth in Roman’s voice makes Janus’s chest ache all over again. “You have so much compassion,” he says softly, “and you don’t get nearly enough credit for it.”

Roman shrugs. “It’s not easy.”

“No, I’m sure it isn’t.”

“…it hurts.”

“I know, sweetie.”

Roman worries his lip between his teeth. “…but I don’t want to stop.”

“Don’t,” Janus says, “please, don’t. It’s one of the best things about you.”

“Janus, I’m _scared,_ ” Roman whispers, curled up on the floor, his back against the wall, freezing cold.

A rush of warmth escapes his mouth as a comforting hum as he starts leaning forward. “I know, sweetie. I’ll look after you.”

Disbelief and hope war behind Roman’s eyes as he looks up. His lips part. Then he closes his mouth again.

“ _I’ll take care of you,_ ” Janus murmurs.

Roman’s mouth quirks. _“It’s rotten work.”_

_“Not to me,_ ” Janus promises, “ _not if it’s you._ ”

The quote lets him rest a hand on Roman’s cheek, cupping his face gently as Roman’s gaze searches his face. There’s a brief moment where Roman looks as if he’s about to say no, to pull away, but he doesn’t.

“…is it really your job to protect me?”

“Yes, my prince.”

Roman _shudders,_ turning his head to lean a little further into Janus’s hand.

“…I’m a handful,” he tries weakly.

Janus quirks an eyebrow. “A handful, hmm?” When Roman nods, he pulls back just enough to take his gloves off, shushing the stifled noise of protest as he does.

“Which one?”

“Hmm?”

“Which handful are you, my prince?” At Roman’s confused look, Janus reaches out to take one of Roman’s hands. “This one?”

He squeezes it tightly as he guides it up over his shoulder. “No? What about this one?”

He takes Roman’s other hand and does the same, looping Roman’s arms over him.

“Janus, what—“

“What about this one,” Janus continues gently, settling a third hand on Roman’s hip, a fourth on the other, “or this one?”

Roman squeaks in surprise as Janus pulls him gently into his lap, his lowest pair of arms holding him firmly around the waist, his middle pair wrapping around Roman’s chest, one hand drawing little doodles in the space between his shoulder blades.

“Are you this handful,” he says softly, his fifth hand fitting snugly around the back of Roman’s neck, “right here?”

“…J...Janus…”

“Or this one,” he whispers, reaching up with his last hand to tuck Roman’s hair behind his ear, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

He holds Roman tightly in his lap, his last hand running gently through his hair, scratching across his scalp. He leans to murmur into Roman’s ear.

“If you’re a handful, my prince,” he whispers, “then it’s a good thing I _don’t_ have six hands.”

A laugh tears itself out of Roman’s throat, becoming horribly distorted into a strangled gasp. Janus just holds him firmly, as Roman begins to tremble, then shiver, before a wounded noise muffles itself in the crook of his neck and Roman sags into him, clutching him as tight as he can.

Janus keeps murmuring soft reassurances, drawing little patterns on Roman’s back, and holding him as securely as he can. He peppers Roman’s face with chaste kisses, over his cheeks, over his forehead, across his closed eyelids, down his jaw, to his neck.

“You’ve been doing so well, my prince,” he whispers, “ _so_ well, I’m so proud of you…I know the others are too. They’re not angry with you, sweetie, and they won’t be, not for this. You’re not alone, Roman, you won’t ever be, we’ll help you.”

“I just—“ he can feel the roll of Roman’s throat as he swallows heavily— “I just want to be _happy._ A-and for that to be _okay._ ”

“A noble pursuit if ever I heard one.”

“I’m so _tired._ ”

“Then you rest,” Janus promises, “right here, in my arms, in my lap. I’ll keep you safe, my prince.”

“P-promise?”

“I promise.”

As Roman goes limp in his arms, his head turning to lie comfortably on Janus’s shoulder, cupped in his hands, Janus sinks them out to lie across the couch. He tugs a blanket over Roman’s shoulders and tucks him in, making sure not to jostle him too much.

“…I don’t know if I can sleep.”

“You don’t have to sleep, honey,” Janus says, “just rest.”

He feels Roman nod and nuzzle into his neck.

“Jan? Ro?”

Virgil appears at the bottom of the stairs.

“You guys okay?”

“Just tired,” Janus says simply, scratching his fingers along Roman’s scalp. Virgil catches his gaze and nods, coming to kneel down next to the couch.

“Hey, Princey,” he calls softly, “you have an episode?”

“…yeah.”

“Did anything…happen?”

“Huh-uh.”

“Okay.” Virgil reaches up to ruffle Roman’s hair. “You okay if I stick around?”

“Mhmm.”

Virgil pulls out his headphones and leans against the other part of the couch, his head just below Roman’s. Janus sees him glance up and quirk an eyebrow. When Roman’s breathing evens out a little more, he sighs.

“I don’t know, Virgil.”

“Were you there when it started?”

“No. I walked in when I heard…”

Virgil finishes the sentence for him with a sharp nod. “Okay. I haven’t seen anything specific.”

“Do you…are there any specific signs?”

“Kind of.” Virgil jerks his chin toward Roman. “We were gonna talk about it a little more.”

Janus winces. “Has everyone asked to talk to him?”

“Yeah why?”

He briefly explains what they’d figured out. Virgil curses under his breath, looking back at the dozing Roman.

“No fucking _wonder_ he’s exhausted.”

“Mm.”

“Hey guys, have you seen—“

Patton and Logan pause at the edge of the stairs, Patton’s hands quickly flying to cover his mouth at the sight of them.

“Sorry,” he whispers as the finish coming down the stairs, “we were looking for Roman.”

“What’s up?”

“He mentioned that he wasn’t feeling well this morning,” Logan says quietly, taking a seat on the couch behind Virgil, “we wanted to see if he was feeling any better before we started dinner.”

“Oh shit is it time for dinner already?”

“Almost.”

Patton sits next to Virgil, reaching up to carefully tuck a fluttering strand of hair out of the way. “Episode?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” Patton stands up. “I’m going to put the water on for pasta.”

“I’ll come help.” Patton reaches down to pull Virgil to his feet. “We just gotta be quiet.”

Logan scoots a little closer as the two of them leave. “Is Roman alright?”

“…I don’t know.”

“I don’t think any of us do.” Logan glances around. Janus follows his gaze.

Patton and Virgil keep sending glances their way, obviously checking to see if anything’s going wrong. Logan looks more openly concerned than Janus has ever seen. And Janus, of course, still has every single arm wrapped as protectively around his sleeping prince as he can.

“Does he still believe he’s…wrong?”

Janus nods.

“I think I have an idea.”

* * *

Roman wakes up warm.

A soft golden haze lingers in his brain as he shifts, a soft moan coming out as his muscles begin to wake up. Is he in bed? He doesn’t remember going back to his room. The last thing he remembers is—

“Easy, sweetie,” Janus’s voice floats in from above him, “you’re safe. I have you.”

…that.

“J’nus?”

“Yeah, sweetie, it’s just me.” A hand cards gently through his hair. “How are you?”

“…floaty.”

A deep chuckle comes from the chest underneath him. “Well, there are worse things to be.”

Something in Roman’s neck catches and he winces. He must’ve slept wrong. Janus catches the soft hiss of air through his teeth.

“Do you want to sit up?” At Roman’s nod, he loosens his grip enough for Roman to move away. He tries, only to be thwarted when his head rushes. “Would you like a hand? Or six?”

Roman’s sleepy brain giggles as Janus wraps his arms around him again.

“Alright, we’re going to sit up now. If you feel dizzy, you just hang onto me, alright?”

Sitting up is slow, a little fuzzy. Janus isn’t quite _warm,_ but he’s there and he’s solid and he holds Roman securely. When they’re upright, Roman blinks a few times, waiting for his vision to clear.

Oh. They’re in the living room. Okay.

“Janus?”

Is that Patton?

“You want to come give us a hand?”

Janus glances at Roman. Roman nods. He gets a hand cupped lightly around his cheek as Janus moves away, tugging his gloves back on as he goes. Wait, were his gloves off the entire time?

The couch sags on his other side and he looks around to see Logan, who smiles softly and opens his arms.

“If you’re still cold,” he says quietly, “I’m more than happy to cuddle you.”

“Um, y-yeah, thanks.”

Logan moves in swiftly, wrapping his arms around Roman and pulling him to his chest. His chin rests against Roman’s head and—oh. They opened the blinds.

Soft golden sunlight streams in through the window, bathing everything in a warm light. As Logan tucks him in close, The light streams across the floor, making Roman’s vision a little fuzzier. Logan smells like coffee and fresh paper.

“Are you feeling a little better?”

“I think so. Everything’s kind of fuzzy.”

“In a bad way?”

“…no?” Roman blinks a few times and looks up at Logan. “Just…kinda.”

“You may still be a bit drowsy,” Logan explains gently, “and that’s alright.”

Quiet clattering comes from behind them.

“The others are making dinner,” comes the soft answer, “it’s almost ready. Do you think you can eat?”

“Probably. Is…is that the plan?”

“To eat dinner? Yes.”

“And after?”

Logan shrugs. “I don’t know. We may just lie about on the floor.”

“Wait, what?”

“It’s warm.” A hand rubs circles in the small of his back. “And it may be nice to simply exist around each other for a little while.”

“Logan, what—what’s going on?”

Logan pulls back a little so Roman can look directly at his face. “You’ve been stressed lately because no one will tell you what’s right and wrong, is that correct?”

Roman’s eyes widen. Has it—is it that obvious? Did he tell someone that?

“Janus mentioned you discussed it briefly,” Logan murmurs, “you had an episode earlier.”

“…I remember.”

Logan nods. “Normalizing spending time together without expectation may…help.”

He pauses, then leans forward to rest their foreheads together. Roman’s groggy brain doesn’t quite have enough energy to fully process anything other than the smell of coffee and books and the warmth of Logan.

“We care about _you,_ Roman,” he says softly, “not what you can do, not what you can make, but for _you._ And we would be more than happy to stay by your side while you figure out what that means.”

A massive lump appears in Roman’s throat as Logan’s sincerity burrows deep into his chest.

“…don’t make me cry before dinner, Specs.”

“As you wish,” comes the gentle reply.

Remus shows up about halfway through and plonks himself right next to Roman.

During a moment where the others are in a loud conversation about…something or other, Remus leans in close. “You good, Ro-Bro?”

“I…I think so.”

“Good.”

Remus’s leg stays pressed against his the whole time.

After dinner is over and Patton whisks away the dishes, Remus scoops him up in a princess carry and marches over to the sunny spot, lays him down, and promptly flops on top of him.

“Remus!”

“Cat pile, bro.”

“Sounds good to me,” Virgil shrugs, lying down closer to the window, only to let out an _oof_ when Patton lays down on top. “A little warning next time, Pop-star.”

“Sorry!”

Logan just chuckles, lying down on Roman’s left and pressing himself up against his side. He nudges Remus’s side until Remus rolls his eyes and, well, rolls.

“Remus!”

“Don’t squish Logan!”

“I’m not!”

“You clearly are!”

“I’m not gonna _stay_ here!”

Roman sits up. “Remus!”

“What’re you gonna do about it?” A second later, Remus yelps indignantly as Roman pushes him off. “Hey!”

A moment later Remus is sprawled across another area of the sunlit floor, his head next to Virgil’s. Logan simply huffs, sits up, and threads his fingers through Roman’s, laying their hands on his warm stomach.

“Are you warm enough?”

Roman shifts. He’s not _warm…_ but it’s not…the cold weight in his stomach is starting to go away.

Then Janus lies down on his other side and opens his arms.

And somehow it’s the easiest thing in the world to let him coax Roman into the warmest cuddle he’s had in ages. He hears Logan murmur something and feels his hand in his, stroking his palm gently. Janus’s hands run up his side, only to pause when they feel a lump in his pocket.

Roman reaches in and pulls out the clip with the little gold crown.

“…that’s where you keep it?” Janus asks, too quiet for the others to hear.

For the first time, right before he drifts back off, Roman’s mind clears a little.

He sees Virgil and Patton, on the floor with him, happy to just _be_ here. He sees Remus, sprawled out a little ways away, keeping watch. He feels Logan’s hand in his, a reassuring weight. He sees Janus, feels him hold him tightly.

He sees the little golden crown and it doesn’t feel quite so sharp anymore.

Roman slides the clip into his hair and lies back down, letting Janus press a kiss to his temple, right below the shiny red clip and the golden crown.

It isn’t easy.

But as Roman floats with his family, with strong arms around him, he thinks it might be getting easier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoooooo boi cat piles in the sun are a good time

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come yell at me on tumblr. 
> 
> https://a-small-batch-of-dragons.tumblr.com/


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